THE  MJ4R 

a 


ojr. 


trsidition/ 


CmiRLES    fV.CHESNUTT 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 


THE  COLLECTION  OF 
NORTH  CAROLINIANA 


G813 
C52ra 

c,2 


FOR  USE  ONLY  IN 
THE  NORTH  CAROLINA  COLLECTION 


Ufc^j — «^-*^ 


Form  No.  A -368 


/^^^^^^ 


^T^TA*—, 


THE 

(lUvUs  W. 

CI)efi!nutt 

CONJURE  WOMAN 

.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

THE 

WIFE  OF  HIS  YOUTH.     Illustrated. 

Crown 

8vo 

,  $1.50. 

THE 

HOUSE    BEHIND 

THE    CEDARS. 

Crown 

8vo 

,  $1.50. 

THE 

MARROW  OF  TRADITION.   Crown  8vo 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 

,  $1 

.50- 

Boston  and 

New  York- 

THE  MARROW  OF 
TRADITION 


BY 


CHARLES  ^Y.  CHESNUTT 


BOSTON   AXD   WEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

1901 


COPYRIGHT,  190I,  BY   CHARLES   W.    CHESNUTT 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


J 


I  like  you  and  your  book,  ingenious  Hone  ! 
In  whose  capacious  all-embracing  leaves 
The  very  marrow  of  tradition  's  shown. 

CHARLES  LAMB, 

To  the  Editor  of  the  Every-Day  Book. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTEE  PAGE 

I.  At  Break  of  Day 1 

II.  The  Christening  Party 12 

III.  The  Editor  at  Work 28 

IV.  Theodore  Felix 40 

V.  A  Journey  Southward 48 

VI.  Janet 63 

Vn.  The  Operation 68 

Vin.  The  Campaign  drags 79 

IX.  A  White  Man's  "  Nigger  " 84 

X.  Delamere  plays  a  Trusip 93 

XI.  The  Baby  and  the  Bird 104 

XII.  Another  Southern  Product       ....  109 

Xin.  The  Cakewalk 11.5 

XrV.  The  Maunderings  of  Old  Mrs.  Ochiltree       .  123 

XV.  Mrs.  Carteret  seeks  an  Explanation          .        .  132 

XVI.  Ellis  takes  a  Trick 140 

XVII.  The  Social  Aspirations  of  Captain  McBane       .  154 

XVIII.  Sandy  sees  his  own  Ha'nt 166_^- 

XIX.  A  Midnight  Walk 171 

XX.  A  Shocking  Crdle 175 

XXI.  The  Necessity  of  an  Exajeple        ....  180 

XXII.  How  not  to  prevent  a  Lynching      .        .        .  187 

XXIII.  Belleview 196 

XXrV.  Two  Southern  Gentlemen 202 

XXV.  The  Honor  of  a  Family 210 

XXVI.   The  Discomfort  of  Ellis 216 


vi  CONTENTS 

XXVII.  The  Vagakies  of  the  Higher  Law  •        .        .  222 

XXVIII.  In  Season  and  Out 236 

XXIX.    MUTTEKINGS   OF   THE   StORM 248 

XXX.  The  Missing  Papers 254 

XXXI.  The  Shadow  of  a  Dream 268 

XXXn.  The  Storm  breaks 274 

XXXni.  Into  the  Lion's  Jaws 285 

XXXIV.  The  Vaixey  of  the  Shadow   ....  293 
XXXV.  "  Mine  Enemy,  0  Mine  Enemy  !  "        .        .        .298 

XXXVI.  Fiat  Justitia 311 

XXXVn.   The  Sisters 323 


THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 


AT   BEEAK   OF   DAY 

"  Stay  here  beside  her,  major.  I  shall  not  be 
needed  for  an  hour  yet.  Meanwhile  I  '11  go  down- 
stairs and  snatch  a  bit  of  sleep,  or  talk  to  old  Jane." 

The  night  was  hot  and  sultry.  Though  the  win- 
dows of  the  chamber  were  wide  open,  and  the  muslin 
curtains  looped  back,  not  a  breath  of  air  was  stirring. 
Only  the  shrill  chirp  of  the  cicada  and  the  muffled 
croakino^  of  the  f roofs  in  some  distant  marsh  broke  the 
night  silence.  The  heavy  scent  of  magnolias,  over- 
powering even  the  strong  smell  of  drugs  in  the  sick- 
room, suggested  death  and  funeral  wreaths,  sorrow 
and  tears,  the  long  home,  the  last  sleep.  The  major 
shivered  with  apprehension  as  the  slender  hand  which 
he  held  in  his  own  contracted  nervously  and  in  a 
spasm  of  pain  clutched  his  fingers  with  a  viselike  grip. 

Major  Carteret,  though  dressed  in  brown  linen,  had 
thrown  off  his  coat  for  greater  comfort.  The  stifling 
heat,  in  spite  of  the  palm-leaf  fan  which  he  plied 
mechanically,  was  scarcely  less  oppressive  than  his 
own  thoughts.  Long  ago,  while  yet  a  mere  boy  in 
years,  he  had  come  back  from  Appomattox  to  find  his 
family,  one  of  the  oldest  and  proudest  in  the  state, 
hopelessly  impoverished  by  the  war,  —  even  their  an- 


2  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

cestral  home  swallowed  up  in  the  common  ruin.  His 
elder  brother  had  sacrificed  his  life  on  the  bloody  altar 
of  the  lost  cause,  and  his  father,  broken  and  chagrined, 
died  not  many  years  later,  leaving  the  major  the  last 
of  his  line.  He  had  tried  in  various  pursuits  to 
gain  a  foothold  in  the  new  life,  but  with  indifferent 
success  until  he  won  the  hand  of  Olivia  Merkell, 
whom  he  had  seen  grow  from  a  small  girl  to  glorious 
womanhood.  With  her  money  he  had  founded  the 
Morning  Chronicle,  which  he  had  made  the  leading 
organ  of  his  party  and  the  most  influential  paper  in 
the  State.  The  fine  old  house  in  which  they  lived 
was  hers.  In  this  very  room  she  had  first  drawn  the 
breath  of  life ;  it  had  been  their  nuptial  chamber ; 
and  here,  too,  within  a  few  hours,  she  might  die,  for 
it  seemed  impossible  that  one  could  long  endure  such 
frightful  agony  and  live. 

One  cloud  alone  had  marred  the  otherwise  perfect 
serenity  of  their  happiness.  Olivia  was  childless. 
To  have  children  to  perpetuate  the  name  of  which  he 
was  so  proud,  to  write  it  still  higher  on  the  roll  of 
honor,  had  been  his  dearest  hope.  His  disappoint- 
ment had  been  proportionately  keen.  A  few  months 
ago  this  dead  hope  had  revived,  and  altered  the  whole 
aspect  of  their  lives.  But  as  time  went  on,  his  wife's 
age  had  begun  to  tell  upon  her,  until  even  Dr.  Price, 
the  most  cheerful  and  optimistic  of  physicians,  had 
warned  him,  while  hoping  for  the  best,  to  be  prei3ared 
for  the  worst.  To  add  to  the  danger,  Mrs.  Carteret 
had  only  this  day  suffered  from  a  nervous  shock,  which, 
it  was  feared,  had  hastened  by  several  weeks  the  ex- 
pected event. 

Dr.  Price  went  downstairs  to  the  library,  where  a 


AT  BREAK  OF  DAY  3 

dim  light  was  burning.  An  old  black  woman,  dressed 
in  a  gingham  frock,  with  a  red  bandana  handkerchief 
coiled  around  her  head  by  way  of  turban,  was  seated 
by  an  open  window.  She  rose  and  curtsied  as  the 
doctor  entered  and  dropped  into  a  willow  rocking- 
chair  near  her  own. 

*'  How  did  this  happen,  Jane  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  sub- 
dued voice,  adding,  with  assumed  severity,  "  You  ought 
to  have  taken  better  care  of  your  mistress." 

"Now  look  a-hyuh,  Doctuh  Price,"  returned  the 
old  woman  in  an  unctuous  whisper,  "  you  don'  wanter 
come  talkin'  none  er  yo'  foolishness  'bout  my  not 
takin'  keer  er  Mis'  'Livy.  She  never  would  'a'  said 
sech  a  thing !  Seven  er  eight  mont's  ago,  w'en  she 
sent  fer  me,  I  says  ter  her,  says  I :  — 

"  '  Lawd,  Lawd,  honey !  You  don'  tell  me  dat  after 
all  dese  long  w'ary  years  er  waitin'  de  good  Lawd  is 
done  beared  yo'  prayer  an'  is  gwine  ter  sen'  you  de 
chile  you  be'n  wantin'  so  long  an'  so  bad  ?  Bless  his 
holy  name  I  Will  I  come  an'  nuss  yo'  baby  ?  Why, 
honey,  I  nussed  you,  an'  nussed  yo'  mammy  thoo 
her  las'  sickness,  an'  laid  her  out  w'en  she  died.  I 
would  n'  let  nobody  e'se  nuss  yo'  baby  ;  an'  mo'over, 
I  'm  gwine  ter  come  an'  nuss  you  too.  You  're  young 
side  er  me.  Mis'  'Livy,  but  you  're  ove'ly  ole  ter  be 
havin'  yo'  fus'  baby,  an'  you  '11  need  somebody  roun', 
honey,  w'at  knows  all  'bout  de  fam'ly,  an'  deir  ways 
an'  deir  weaknesses,  an'  I  don'  know  who  dat  'd  be  ef 
it  wa'n't  me.' 

"  '  'Deed,  Mammy  Jane,'  says  she,  '  dere  ain'  no- 
body e'se  I  'd  have  but  you.  You  kin  come  ez  soon 
ez  you  wanter  an'  stay  ez  long  ez  you  mineter.' 

"  An  hyuh  I  is,  an'  hyuh  I  'm  gwine  ter  stay.  Fer 
Mis'  'Livy  is  my  ole  mist'ess's  daughter,  an'  my  ole 


4  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

mist'ess  wuz  good  ter  me,  an'  dey  ain'  none  er  her 
folks  gwine  ter  suffer  ef  ole  Jane  kin  ke'p  it." 

"  Your  loyalty  does  you  credit,  Jane,"  observed  the 
doctor ;  "  but  you  have  n't  told  me  yet  what  happened 
to  Mrs.  Carteret  to-day.  Did  the  horse  run  away, 
or  did  she  see  something  that  frightened  her  ?  " 

"  No,  suh,  de  hoss  did  n'  git  skeered  at  nothin',  but 
Mis'  'Livy  did  see  somethin',  er  somebody ;  an'  it 
wa'n't  no  fault  er  mine  ner  her'n  neither,  —  it  goes 
fu'ther  back,  suh,  fu'ther  dan  dis  day  er  dis  year. 
Does  you  'member  de  time  w'en  my  ole  mist'ess,  Mis' 
'Livy  upstairs's  mammy,  died  ?  No  ?  Well,  you  wuz 
prob'ly  'way  ter  school  den,  studyin'  ter  be  a  doctuh. 
But  I  '11  tell  you  all  erbout  it. 

"Wen  my  ole.  mist'ess.  Mis'  'Liz'beth  Merkell, — 
an'  a  good  mist'ess  she  wuz,  —  tuck  sick  f er  de  las' 
time,  her  sister  Polly  —  ole  Mis'  Polly  Ochiltree  w'at 
is  now  —  come  ter  de  house  ter  he'p  nuss  her.  Mis' 
'Livy  upstairs  yander  wuz  erbout  six  years  ole  den, 
de  sweetes'  little  angel  you  ever  laid  eyes  on ;  an'  on 
her  dyin'  bed  Mis'  'Liz'beth  ax'  Mis'  PoUy  fer  ter 
stay  hyuh  an'  take  keer  er  her  chile,  an'  Mis'  Polly 
she  promise'.  She  wuz  a  widder  fer  de  secon'  time, 
an'  did  n'  have  no  child'en,  an'  could  jes'  as  well 
come  as  not. 

"  But  dere  wuz  trouble  after  de  fune'al,  an'  it  hap- 
pen' right  hyuh  in  dis  lib'ary.  Mars  Sam  wuz  settin' 
by  de  table,  w'en  Mis'  Polly  come  downstairs,  slow  an' 
solemn,  an'  stood  dere  in  de  middle  er  de  flo',  all  in 
black,  till  Mars  Sam  sot  a  cheer  fer  her. 

"  '  Well,  Samuel,'  says  she,  '  now  dat  we  've  done 
all  we  can  fer  po'  'Liz'beth,  it  only  'mains  fer  us  ter 
consider  Olivia's  future.' 

"  Mars  Sam  nodded  his  head,  but  did  n'  say  nothin'. 


AT  BREAK  OF   DAY 


(( ( 


I  don'  need  ter  tell  you,'  says  she,  '  dat  I  am 
willin'  ter  carry  out  de  wishes  er  my  dead  sister,  an' 
sac'ifice  my  own  comfo't,  an'  make  myse'f  yo'  house- 
keeper an'  yo'  child's  nuss,  fer  my  dear  sister's  sake. 
It  wuz  her  dyin'  wish,  an'  on  it  I  will  ac',  ef  it  is  also 
yo'n.' 

"  Mars  Sam  did  n'  want  Mis'  Polly  ter  come,  suh  ; 
fur  he  did  n'  like  Mis'  Polly.  He  wuz  skeered  er 
Miss  Polly." 

"  I  don't  wonder,"  yawned  the  doctor,  "  if  she  was 
anything  like  she  is  now." 

"  Wuss,  suh,  fer  she  wuz  younger,  an'  stronger. 
She  always  would  have  her  say,  no  matter  'bout  what, 
an'  her  own  way,  no  matter  w^ho  'posed  her.  She  had 
already  be'n  in  de  house  fer  a  week,  an'  Mars  Sam 
knowed  ef  she  once  come  ter  stay,  she  'd  be  de  mist'ess 
of  eve'ybody  in  it  an'  him  too.  But  w'at  could  he  do 
but  say  yas  ? 

"  '  Den  it  is  unde'stood,  is  it,'  says  Mis'  Polly,  w'en 
he  had   spoke,  '  dat  I  am  ter  take  cha'ge  er  de  house  ? ' 

" '  All  right,  Polly,'  says  Mars  Sam,  wid  a  deep 
sigh. 

"  Mis'  Polly  'lowed  he  wuz  sighin'  fer  my  po'  dead 
mist'ess,  fer  she  did  n'  have  no  idee  er  his  feelin's 
to'ds  her,  —  she  alluz  did  'low  dat  all  de  gent'emen 
wuz  in  love  wid  'er. 

"  '  You  won'  fin'  much  ter  do,'  Mars  Sam  went  on, 
'  fer  Julia  is  a  good  housekeeper,  an'  kin  ten'  ter  mos' 
eve'ything,  under  yo'  d'rections.' 

"  Mis'  Polly  stiffen'  up  like  a  ramrod.  '  It  mus'  be 
unde'stood,  Samuel,'  says  she,  'dat  w'en  I  'sumes 
cha'ge  er  yo'  house,  dere  ain'  gwine  ter  be  no  'vided 
'sponsibility ;  an'  as  fer  dis  Julia,  me  an'  her  could  n' 
git  'long  tergether  nohow.     Ef  I  stays,  Julia  goes.' 


6  THE  MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

"  Wen  Mars  Sam  heared  dat,  lie  felt  better,  an' 
'mence'  ter  pick  up  his  courage.  Mis'  Polly  had 
showed  her  han'  too  plain.  My  mist'ess  had  n'  got  col' 
yit,  an'  Mis'  Polly,  who  'd  be'n  a  widder  f er  two  years 
dis  las'  time,  wuz  already  fig'rin'  on  takin'  her  place 
f er  good,  an'  she  did  n'  want  no  other  woman  roun'  de 
house  dat  Mars  Sam  might  take  a'  intrus'  in. 

"  '  My  dear  Polly,'  says  Mars  Sam,  quite  determine', 
*  I  could  n'  possibly  sen'  Julia  'way.  Fac'  is,  I  could  n' 
git  'long  widout  Julia.  She  'd  be'n  runnin'  dis  house 
like  clockwo'k  befo'  you  come,  an'  I  likes  her  ways. 
My  dear,  dead  'Liz'beth  sot  a  heap  er  sto'  by  Julia, 
an'  I  'm  gwine  ter  keep  her  here  fer  'Liz'beth's  sake.' 

"  Mis'  Polly's  eyes  flash'  fire. 

"  '  Ah,'  says  she, '  I  see  —  I  see  !  You  perf ers  her 
housekeepin'  ter  mine,  indeed  !  Dat  is  a  fine  way  ter 
talk  ter  a  lady !  An'  a  heap  er  rispec'  you  is  got  fer 
de  mem'ry  er  my  po'  dead  sister !  ' 

"  Mars  Sam  knowed  w'at  she  'lowed  she  seed  wa'n't 
so ;  but  he  did  n'  let  on,  fer  it  only  made  him  de  safer. 
He  wuz  willin'  fer  her  ter  'magine  w'at  she  please', 
jes'  so  long  ez  she  kep'  out  er  his  house  an'  let  him 
alone. 

"  '  No,  Polly,'  says  he,  gittin'  bolder  ez  she  got  mad- 
der, '  dere  ain'  no  use  talkin'.  Nothin'  in  de  worl'  would 
make  me  part  wid  Julia.' 

"  Mis'  Polly  she  r'ared  an'  she  pitch',  but  Mars  Sam 
helt  on  like  grim  death.  Mis'  Polly  would  n'  give  in 
neither,  an'  so  she  fin'lly  went  away.  Dey  made  some 
kind  er  'rangement  afterwa'ds,  an'  Miss  Polly  tuck 
Mis'  'Livy  ter  her  own  house.  Mars  Sam  paid  her 
bo'd  an'  'lowed  Mis'  Polly  somethin'  fer  takin'  keer 
er  her." 

"  And  Julia  stayed  ?  " 


AT  BREAK  OF  DAY  7 

"  Julia  stayed,  suh,  an'  a  couple  er  years  later  her 
chile  wuz  bawn,  right  here  in  dis  house." 

"  But  you  said,"  observed  the  doctor,  "  that  Mrs. 
Ochiltree  was  in  error  about  Julia." 

"  Yas,  suh,  so  she  wuz,  w'en  my  ole  mist'ess  died. 
But  dis  wuz  two  years  after,  —  an'  w'at  has  ter  be  has 
ter  be.  Julia  had  a  easy  time ;  she  had  a  black  gal 
ter  wait  on  her,  a  buggy  to  ride  in,  an'  eve'ything  she 
wanted.  Eve'ybody  s'posed  Mars  Sam  W'Ould  give  her 
a  house  an'  lot,  er  leave  her  soniethin'  in  his  will.  But 
he  died  suddenly,  and  did  n'  leave  no  will,  an'  Mis' 
Polly  got  herse'f  'pinted  gyardeen  ter  young  Mis' 
'Livy,  an'  driv  Julia  an'  her  young  un  out  er  de  house, 
an'  lived  here  in  dis  house  wid  Mis'  'Livy  till  Mis' 
'Livy  ma'ied  Majah  Carteret." 

"  And  what  became  of  Julia  ?  "  asked  Dr.  Price. 

Such  relations,  the  doctor  knew  very  well,  had  been 
all  too  common  in  the  old  slavery  days,  and  not  a  few 
of  them  had  been  projected  into  the  new  era.  Sins, 
like  snakes,  die  hard.  The  habits  and  customs  of  a 
people  were  not  to  be  changed  in  a  day,  nor  by  the 
stroke  of  a  pen.  As  family  physician,  and  father  con- 
fessor by  brevet.  Dr.  Price  had  looked  upon  more  than 
one  hidden  skeleton  ;  and  no  one  in  town  had  had 
better  opportunities  than  old  Jane  for  learning  the 
undercurrents  in  the  lives  of  the  old  families. 

"  Well,"  resumed  Jane,  "  eve'ybody  s'posed,  after 
w'at  had  happen',  dat  Julia  'd  keep  on  livin'  easy,  fer 
she  wuz  young  an'  good-lookin'.  But  she  did  n'.  She 
tried  ter  make  a  livin'  sewin',  but  Mis'  Polly  would  n' 
let  de  bes'  w'ite  folks  hire  her.  Den  she  tuck  up 
washin',  but  did  n'  do  no  better  at  dat ;  an'  bimeby 
she  got  so  discourage'  dat  she  ma'ied  a  shif'less  yaller 
man,  an'  died  er  consumption  soon  after,  —  an'  wuz 


8  THE  MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

'bout  ez  well  off,  f er  dis  man  could  n'  hardly  feed  her 
nohow." 

"  And  the  child  ?  " 

"  One  er  de  No'the'n  w'ite  lady  teachers  at  de  mis- 
sion school  tuck  a  likin'  ter  little  Janet,  an'  put  her 
thoo  school,  an'  den  sent  her  off  ter  de  No'th  fer  ter 
study  ter  be  a  school  teacher.  Wen  she  come  back, 
'stead  er  teachin'  she  ma'ied  ole  Adam  Miller's  son." 

"  The  rich  stevedore's  son.  Dr.  Miller  ?  " 

"  Yas,  suh,  dat  'I  de  man,  —  you  knows  'im.  Dis 
yer  boy  wuz  jes'  gwine  'way  fer  ter  study  ter  be  a  doc- 
tuh,  an'  he  ma'ied  dis  Janet,  an'  tuck  her  'way  wid 
'im.  Dey  went  off  ter  Europe,  er  Irope,  er  Orope,  er 
somewhere  er  'nother,  'way  off  yander,  an'  come  back 
here  las'  year  an'  sta'ted  dis  yer  horspital  an'  school 
fer  ter  train  de  black  gals  fer  nusses." 

"  He  's  a  very  good  doctor,  Jane,  and  is  doing  a 
useful  work.  Your  chapter  of  family  history  is  quite 
interesting,  —  I  knew  part  of  it  before,  in  a  general 
way ;  but  you  have  n't  yet  told  me  what  brought  on 
Mrs.  Carteret's  trouble." 

"  I  'm  jes'  comin'  ter  dat  dis  minute,  suh,  —  w'at  I 
be'n  tellin'  you  is  all  a  part  of  it.  Dis  yer  Janet, 
w'at 's  Mis'  'Livy's  half-sister,  is  ez  much  like  her  ez 
ef  dey  wuz  twins.  Folks  sometimes  takes  'em  fer  one 
ernudder,  —  I  s'pose  it  tickles  Janet  mos'  ter  death, 
but  it  do  make  Mis'  'Livy  rippin'.  An'  den  'way  back 
yander  jes'  after  de  wah,  w'en  de  ole  Carteret  mansion 
had  ter  be  sol',  Adam  Miller  bought  it,  an'  dis  yer 
Janet  an'  her  husban'  is  be'n  livin'  in  it  ever  sence 
ole  Adam  died,  'bout  a  year  ago ;  an'  dat  makes  de 
majah  mad,  'ca'se  he  don'  wanter  see  cullud  folks  livin' 
in  de  ole  fam'ly  mansion  w'at  he  wuz  bawn  in.  An' 
mo'over,  an'  dat 's  de  wust  of  all,  w'iles  Mis'  'Livy  ain' 


AT  BREAK  OF  DAY  9 

had  no  child'en  befo',  dis  yer  sister  er  her'n  is  got  a 
fine-lookiu'  little  yaller  boy,  w'at  favors  de  fam'ly  so 
dat  e£  Mis'  'Livy  'd  see  de  chile  anywhere,  it  'd  mos* 
break  her  heart  fer  ter  think  'bout  her  not  havin'  no 
child'en  herse'f .  So  ter-day,  w'en  Mis'  'Livy  wuz  out 
ridin'  an'  met  dis  yer  Janet  wid  her  boy,  an'  w'en  Mis' 
'Livy  got  ter  studyin'  'bout  her  own  chances,  an'  how 
she  mought  not  come  thoo  safe,  she  jes'  had  a  fit  er 
hysterics  right  dere  in  de  buggy.  She  wuz  nios'  home, 
an'  William  got  her  here,  an'  you  knows  de  res'. " 

Major  Carteret,  from  the  head  of  the  stairs,  called 
the  doctor  anxiously. 

"  You  had  better  come  along  up  now,  Jane,"  said 
the  doctor. 

For  two  long  hours  they  fought  back  the  grim  spec- 
tre that  stood  by  the  bedside.  The  child  was  born  at 
dawn.  Both  mother  and  child,  the  doctor  said,  would 
live. 

"  Bless  its  'ittle  hea't !  "  exclaimed  Mammy  Jane,  as 
she  held  up  the  tiny  mite,  which  bore  as  much  resem- 
blance to  mature  humanity  as  might  be  expected  of  an 
infant  which  had  for  only  a  few  minutes  drawn  the 
breath  of  life.  "  Bless  its  'ittle  hea't !  it 's  de  ve'y  spit 
an'  image  er  its  pappy !  " 

The  doctor  smiled.  The  major  laughed  aloud. 
Jane's  unconscious  witticism,  or  conscious  flattery, 
whichever  it  might  be,  was  a  welcome  diversion  from 
the  tense  strain  of  the  last  few  hours. 

"  Be  that  as  it  may,"  said  Dr.  Price  cheerfully, 
"  and  I  '11  not  dispute  it,  the  child  is  a  very  fine  boy, 
—  a  very  fine  boy,  indeed  !  Take  care  of  it,  major," 
he  added  with  a  touch  of  solemnity,  "  for  your  wife 
can  never  bear  another." 

With  the  child's  first  cry  a  refreshing  breeze  from 


10  THE  MARROW    OF  TRADITION 

the  distant  ocean  cooled  the  hot  air  of  the  chamber ; 
the  heavy  odor  of  the  magnolias,  with  its  mortuary 
suggestiveness,  gave  place  to  the  scent  of  rose  and 
lilac  and  honeysuckle.  The  birds  in  the  garden  were 
singing  lustily. 

All  these  sweet  and  pleasant  things  found  an  echo 
in  the  major's  heart.  He  stood  by  the  window,  and 
looking  toward  the  rising  sun,  breathed  a  silent  prayer 
of  thanksgiving.  All  nature  seemed  to  rejoice  in  sym- 
pathy with  his  happiness  at  the  fruition  of  this  long- 
deferred  hope,  and  to  predict  for  this  wonderful  child 
a  bright  and  glorious  future. 

Old  Mammy  Jane,  however,  was  not  entirely  at  ease 
concerning  the  child.  She  had  discovered,  under  its 
left  ear,  a  small  mole,  which  led  her  to  fear  that  the 
child  was  born  for  bad  luck.  Had  the  baby  been 
black,  or  yellow,  or  poor-white,  Jane  would  unhesitat- 
ingly have  named,  as  his  ultimate  fate,  a  not  uncom- 
mon form  of  taking  off,  usually  resultant  upon  the 
infraction  of  certain  laws,  or,  in  these  swift  modern 
days,  upon  too  violent  a  departure  from  established 
social  customs.  It  was  manifestly  impossible  that  a 
child  of  such  high  quality  as  the  grandson  of  her  old 
mistress  should  die  by  judicial  strangulation ;  but 
nevertheless  the  warning  was  a  serious  thing,  and 
not  to  be  lightly  disregarded. 

Not  wishing  to  be  considered  as  a  prophet  of  evil 
omen,  Jane  kept  her  own  counsel  in  regard  to  this  sig- 
nificant discovery.  But  later,  after  the  child  was 
several  days  old,  she  filled  a  small  vial  with  water  in 
which  the  infant  had  been  washed,  and  took  it  to  a  cer- 
tain wise  old  black  woman,  who  lived  on  the  farther 
edge  of  the  town  and  was  well  known  to  be  versed  in 
witchcraft  and  conjuration.    The  conjure  woman  added 


AT   BREAK   OF  DAY  11 

to  the  contents  of  the  bottle  a  bit  of  calamus  root,  and 
one  of  the  cervical  vertebrae  from  the  skeleton  of  a 
black  cat,  with  several  other  mysterious  ingredients, 
the  nature  of  which  she  did  not  disclose.  Following  in- 
structions given  her.  Aunt  Jane  buried  the  bottle  in 
Carteret's  back  yard,  one  night  during  the  full  moon, 
as  a  good-luck  charm  to  ward  off  evil  from  the  little 
grandson  of  her  dear  mistress,  so  long  since  dead  and 
gone  to  heaven. 


II 

THE   CHRISTENING   PARTY 

They  named  the  Carteret  baby  Theodore  Felix. 
Theodore  was  a  family  name,  and  had  been  borne  by 
the  eldest  son  for  several  generations,  the  major  him- 
self being  a  second  son.  Having  thus  given  the  child 
two  beautiful  names,  replete  with  religious  and  senti- 
mental significance,  they  called  him  —  "  Dodie." 

The  baby  was  christened  some  six  weeks  after  its 
birth,  by  which  time  Mrs.  Carteret  was  able  to  be  out. 
Old  Mammy  Jane,  who  had  been  brought  up  in  the 
church,  but  who,  like  some  better  informed  people  in 
all  ages,  found  religion  not  inconsistent  with  a  strong 
vein  of  superstition,  felt  her  fears  for  the  baby's  future 
much  relieved  when  the  rector  had  made  the  sign  of 
the  cross  and  sprinkled  little  Dodie  with  the  water 
from  the  carved  marble  font,  which  had  come  from 
England  in  the  reign  of  King  Charles  the  Martyr, 
as  the  ill-fated  son  of  James  I.  was  known  to  St. 
Andrew's.  Upon  this  special  occasion  Mammy  Jane 
had  been  provided  with  a  seat  downstairs  among  the 
white  people,  to  her  own  intense  satisfaction,  and  to 
the  secret  envy  of  a  small  colored  attendance  in  the 
gallery,  to  whom  she  was  ostentatiously  pointed  out 
by  her  grandson  Jerry,  porter  at  the  Morning  Chron- 
icle office,  who  sat  among  them  in  the  front  row. 

On  the  following  Monday  evening  the  major  gave 
a  christening  party  in  honor  of  this  important  event. 


THE   CHRISTENING  PARTY  13 

Owing  to  Mrs.  Carteret's  still  delicate  health,  only  a 
small  number  of  intimate  friends  and  family  connec- 
tions were  invited  to  attend.  These  were  the  rector 
of  St.  Andrew's  ;  old  Mrs.  Polly  Ochiltree,  the  god- 
mother ;  old  Mr.  Delamere,  a  distant  relative  and  also 
one  of  the  sponsors  ;  and  his  grandson,  Tom  Delamere. 
The  major  had  also  invited  Lee  Ellis,  his  young  city 
editor,  for  whom  he  had  a  great  liking  apart  from 
his  business  value,  and  who  was  a  frequent  visitor  at 
the  house.  These,  with  the  family  itself,  which  con- 
sisted of  the  major,  his  wife,  and  his  half-sister,  Clara 
Pemberton,  a  young  woman  of  about  eighteen,  made 
up  the  eight  persons  for  whom  covers  were  laid. 

Ellis  was  the  first  to  arrive,  a  tall,  loose-limbed  young 
man,  with  a  slightly  freckled  face,  hair  verging  on 
auburn,  a  firm  chin,  and  honest  gray  eyes.  He  had 
come  half  an  hour  early,  and  was  left  alone  for  a  few 
minutes  in  the  parlor,  a  spacious,  high-ceilinged  room, 
with  large  windows,  and  fitted  up  in  excellent  taste, 
with  stately  reminiscences  of  a  past  generation.  The 
walls  were  hung  with  figured  paper.  The  ceiling  was 
whitewashed,  and  decorated  in  the  middle  with  a  plaster 
centre-piece,  from  which  hung  a  massive  chandelier 
sparkling  with  prismatic  rays  from  a  hundred  crystal 
pendants.  There  was  a  handsome  mantel,  set  with 
terra-cotta  tiles,  on  which  fauns  and  satyrs,  nymphs 
and  dryads,  disported  themselves  in  idyllic  abandon. 
The  furniture  was  old,  and  in  keeping  with  the  room. 

At  seven  o'clock  a  carriage  drove  up,  from  which 
alighted  an  elderly  gentleman,  with  white  hair  and 
mustache,  and  bowed  somewhat  with  years.  Short  of 
breath  and  painfully  weak  in  the  legs,  he  was  assisted 
from  the  carriage  by  a  colored  man,  aj^parently  about 
forty  years  old,  to  whom  short  side-whiskers  and  spec- 


14  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

tacles  imparted  an  air  of  sobriety.  This  attendant  gave 
his  arm  respectfully  to  the  old  gentleman,  who  leaned 
upon  it  heavily,  but  with  as  little  appearance  of  depend- 
ence as  possible.  The  servant,  assuming  a  similar 
unconsciousness  of  the  weight  resting  upon  his  arm, 
assisted  the  old  gentleman  carefully  up  the  steps. 

"  I  'm  all  right  now,  Sandy,"  whispered  the  gentle- 
man as  soon  as  his  feet  were  planted  firmly  on  the 
piazza.     "  You  may  come  back  for  me  at  nine  o'clock." 

Having  taken  his  hand  from  his  servant's  arm,  he 
advanced  to  meet  a  lady  who  stood  in  the  door  await- 
ing him,  a  tall,  elderly  woman,  gaunt  and  angular  of 
frame,  with  a  mottled  face,  and  high  cheekbones  par- 
tially covered  by  bands  of  hair  entirely  too  black  and 
abundant  for  a  person  of  her  age,  if  one  might  judge 
from  the  lines  of  her  mouth,  which  are  rarely  decep- 
tive in  such  matters. 

"  Perhaps  you  'd  better  not  send  your  man  away,  Mr. 
Delamere,"  observed  the  lady,  in  a  high  shrill  voice, 
which  grated  upon  the  old  gentleman's  ears.  He  was 
slightly  hard  of  hearing,  but,  like  most  deaf  people, 
resented  being  screamed  at.  "  You  might  need  him 
before  nine  o'clock.  One  never  knows  what  may 
happen  after  one  has  had  the  second  stroke.  And 
moreover,  our  butler  has  fallen  down  the  back  steps  — 
negroes  are  so  careless  !  —  and  sprained  his  ankle  so 
that  he  can't  stand.  I  'd  like  to  have  Sandy  stay  and 
wait  on  the  table  in  Peter's  place,  if  you  don't  mind." 

"  I  thank  you,  Mrs.  Ochiltree,  for  your  solicitude," 
replied  Mr.  Delamere,  with  a  shade  of  annoyance  in 
Lis  voice,  "  but  my  health  is  very  good  just  at  pre- 
sent, and  I  do  not  anticipate  any  catastrophe  which 
will  require  my  servant's  presence  before  I  am  ready 
to  go  home.     But  I  have  no  doubt,  madam,"  he  con- 


THE  CHRISTENING  PARTY  15 

tinued,  with  a  courteous  inclination,  "  that  Sandy  will 
be  pleased  to  serve  you,  if  you  desire  it,  to  the  best  of 
his  poor  knowledge." 

"  I  shill  be  honored,  ma'am,"  assented  Sandy,  with 
a  bow  even  deeper  than  his  master's,  "  only  I  'm 
'feared  I  ain't  rightly  dressed  fer  ter  wait  on  table. 
I  wuz  only  goin'  ter  pra'r-meetin',  an'  so  I  did  n' 
put  on  my  bes'  clo's.  Ef  Mis'  Ochiltree  ain'  gwine 
ter  need  me  fer  de  nex'  fifteen  minutes,  I  kin  ride 
back  home  in  de  ca'ige  an'  dress  myse'f  suitable  fer 
de  occasion,  suh." 

"  If  you  think  you  '11  wait  on  the  table  any  better," 
said  Mrs.  Ochiltree,  "  you  may  go  along  and  change 
your  clothes  ;  but  hurry  back,  for  it  is  seven  now,  and 
dinner  will  soon  be  served." 

Sandy  retired  with  a  bow.  While  descending  the 
steps  to  the  carriage,  which  had  waited  for  him,  he 
came  face  to  face  with  a  young  man  just  entering 
the  house. 

"  Am  I  in  time  for  dinner,  Sandy  ?  "  asked  the 
newcomer. 

"  Yas,  Mistuh  Tom,  you  're  in  plenty  er  time.  Din- 
ner won't  be  ready  till  /  git  back,  which  won'  be  fer 
fifteen  minutes  er  so  yit." 

Throwing  away  the  cigarette  which  he  held  between 
his  fingers,  the  young  man  crossed  the  piazza  with  a 
light  step,  and  after  a  preliminary  knock,  for  an 
answer  to  which  he  did  not  wait,  entered  the  house 
with  the  air  of  one  thoroughly  at  home.  The  lights 
in  the  parlor  had  been  lit,  and  Ellis,  who  sat  talking 
to  Major  Carteret  when  the  newcomer  entered,  covered 
him  with  a  jealous  glance. 

Slender  and  of  medium  height,  with  a  small  head 
of  almost  perfect  contour,  a  symmetrical  face,  dark 


16  THE  MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

almost  to  swarthiness,  black  eyes,  which  moved  some- 
what restlessly,  curly  hair  of  raven  tint,  a  slight 
mustache,  small  hands  and  feet,  and  fashionable  attire, 
Tom  Delamere,  the  grandson  of  the  old  gentleman 
who  had  already  ajrrived,  was  easily  the  handsomest 
young  man  in  Wellington.  But  no  discriminating 
observer  would  have  characterized  his  beauty  as  manly. 
It  conveyed  no  impression  of  strength,  but  did  possess 
a  certain  element,  feline  rather  than  feminine,  which 
subtly  negatived  the  idea  of  manliness. 

He  gave  his  hand  to  the  major,  nodded  curtly  to 
Ellis,  saluted  his  grandfather  respectfully,  and  in- 
quired for  the  ladies. 

"  Olivia  is  dressing  for  dinner,"  replied  the  major  ; 
"  Mrs.  Ochiltree  is  in  the  kitchen,  struggling  with  the 
servants.     Clara  —     Ah,  here  she  comes  now  !  " 

Ellis,  whose  senses  were  preter naturally  acute  where 
Clara  was  concerned,  was  already  looking  toward  the 
hall  and  was  the  first  to  see  her.  Clad  in  an  evening 
gown  of  simple  white,  to  the  close-fitting  corsage  of 
which  she  had  fastened  a  bunch  of  pink  roses,  she 
was  to  Ellis  a  dazzling  apparition.  To  him  her  erect 
and  well-moulded  form  was  the  embodiment  of 
symmetry,  her  voice  sweet  music,  her  movements  the 
perfection  of  grace ;  and  it  scarcely  needed  a  lover's 
imagination  to  read  in  her  fair  countenance  a  pure 
heart  and  a  high  spirit,  —  the  truthfulness  that  scorns 
a  lie,  the  pride  which  is  not  haughtiness.  There  were 
suggestive  depths  of  tenderness,  too,  in  the  curl  of  her 
lip,  the  droop  of  her  long  lashes,  the  glance  of  her 
blue  eyes,  —  depths  that  Ellis  had  long  since  divined, 
though  he  had  never  yet  explored  them.  She  gave 
Ellis  a  friendly  nod  as  she  came  in,  but  for  the  smile 
with  which  she  greeted  Delamere,  Ellis  would  have 


THE   CHRISTENING  PARTY  17 

given  all  that  he  possessed,  —  not  a  great  deal,  it  is 
true,  but  what  could  a  man  do  more  ? 

"  You  are  the  last  one,  Tom,"  she  said  reproach- 
fully.    "  Mr.  Ellis  has  been  here  half  an  hour." 

Delamere  threw  a  glance  at  Ellis  which  was  not 
exactly  friendly.  Why  should  this  fellow  always  be 
on  hand  to  emphasize  his  own  shortcomings? 

"  The  rector  is  not  here,"  answered  Tom  trium- 
phantly.    "  You  see  I  am  not  the  last." 

"  The  rector,"  replied  Clara,  "  was  called  out  of 
town  at  six  o'clock  this  evening,  to  visit  a  dying  man, 
and  so  cannot  be  here.  You  are  the  last,  Tom,  and 
Mr.  Ellis  was  the  first." 

Ellis  was  ruefully  aware  that  this  comparison  in  his 
favor  was  the  only  visible  advantage  that  he  had 
gained  from  his  early  arrival.  He  had  not  seen  Miss 
Pemberton  a  moment  sooner  by  reason  of  it.  There 
had  been  a  certain  satisfaction  in  being  in  the  same 
house  with  her,  but  Delamere  had  arrived  in  time  to 
share  or,  more  correctly,  to  monopolize,  the  sunshine 
of  her  presence. 

Delamere  gave  a  plausible  excuse  which  won  Clara's 
pardon  and  another  enchanting  smile,  which  pierced 
Ellis  like  a  dagger.  He  knew  very  well  that  Dela- 
mere's  excuse  was  a  lie.  Ellis  himself  had  been  ready 
as  early  as  six  o'clock,  but  judging  this  to  be  too  early, 
had  stopped  in  at  the  Clarendon  Club  for  half  an 
hour,  to  look  over  the  magazines.  While  coming  out 
he  had  glanced  into  the  card-room,  where  he  had 
seen  his  rival  deep  in  a  game  of  cards,  from  which 
Delamere  had  evidently  not  been  able  to  tear  himself 
until  the  last  moment.  He  had  accounted  for  his 
lateness  by  a  story  quite  inconsistent  with  these  facts. 

The  two  young  people  walked  over  to  a  window  on 


18  THE  MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

the  opposite  side  of  the  large  room,  where  they  stood 
talking  to  one  another  in  low  tones.  The  major  had 
left  the  room  for  a  moment.  Old  Mr.  Delamere,  who 
was  watching  his  grandson  and  Clara  with  an  indul- 
gent smile,  proceeded  to  rub  salt  into  Ellis's  wounds. 

"  They  make  a  handsome  couple,"  he  observed.  "  I 
remember  well  when  her  mother,  in  her  youth  an 
ideally  beautiful  woman,  of  an  excellent  family, 
married  Daniel  Pemberton,  who  was  not  of  so  good  a 
family,  but  had  made  money.  The  major,  who  was 
only  a  very  young  man  then,  disapproved  of  the 
match ;  he  considered  that  his  mother,  although  a 
widow  and  nearly  forty,  was  marrying  beneath  her. 
But  he  has  been  a  good  brother  to  Clara,  and  a  careful 
guardian  of  her  estate.  Ah,  young  gentleman,  you 
cannot  appreciate,  except  in  imagination,  what  it 
means,  to  one  standing  on  the  brink  of  eternity,  to 
feel  sure  that  he  will  live  on  in  his  children  and  his 
children's  children  !  " 

Ellis  was  appreciating  at  that  moment  what  it 
meant,  in  cold  blood,  with  no  effort  of  the  imagination, 
to  see  the  girl  whom  he  loved  absorbed  completely  in 
another  man.  She  had  looked  at  him  only  once  since 
Tom  Delamere  had  entered  the  room,  and  then  merely 
to  use  him  as  a  spur  with  which  to  prick  his  favored 
rival. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  returned  mechanically,  *'  Miss  Clara 
is  a  beautiful  young  lady." 

"  And  Tom  is  a  good  boy  —  a  fine  boy,"  returned 
the  old  gentleman.  "  I  am  very  well  pleased  with 
Tom,  and  shall  be  entirely  happy  when  I  see  them 
married." 

Ellis  could  not  echo  this  sentiment.  The  very 
thought  of  this  marriage  made  him  miserable.     He 


THE  CHRISTENING  PARTY  19 

had  always  understood  that  the  engagement  was  merely 
tentative,  a  sort  of  family  understanding,  subject  to 
confirmation  after  Delamere  should  have  attained  his 
majority,  which  was  still  a  year  off,  and  when  the 
major  should  think  Clara  old  enough  to  marry.  Ellis 
saw  Delamere  with  the  eye  of  a  jealous  rival,  and 
judged  him  mercilessly,  —  whether  correctly  or  not 
the  sequel  will  show.  He  did  not  at  all  believe  that 
Tom  Delamere  would  make  a  fit  husband  for  Clara 
Pemberton ;  but  his  opinion  would  have  had  no 
weight,  —  he  could  hardly  have  expressed  it  without 
showing  his  own  interest.  Moreover,  there  was  no 
element  of  the  sneak  in  Lee  Ellis's  make-up.  The 
very  fact  that  he  might  profit  by  the  other's  discom- 
fiture left  Delamere  secure,  so  far  as  he  could  be 
affected  by  anything  that  Ellis  might  say.  But  Ellis 
did  not  shrink  from  a  fair  fight,  and  though  in  this 
one  the  odds  were  heavily  against  him,  yet  so  long 
as  this  engagement  remained  indefinite,  so  long,  in- 
deed, as  the  object  of  his  love  was  still  unwed,  he 
would  not  cease  to  hope.  Such  a  sacrifice  as  this 
marriage  clearly  belonged  in  the  catalogue  of  im- 
possibilities. Ellis  had  not  lived  long  enough  to  learn 
that  impossibilities  are  merely  things  of  which  we 
have  not  learned,  or  which  we  do  not  wish  to  happen. 
Sandy  returned  at  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
and  dinner  was  announced.  Mr.  Delamere  led  the 
way  to  the  dining-room  with  Mrs.  Ochiltree.  Tom 
followed  with  Clara.  The  major  went  to  the  head 
of  the  stairs  and  came  down  with  Mrs.  Carteret  upon 
his  arm,  her  beauty  rendered  more  delicate  by  the 
pallor  of  her  countenance  and  more  complete  by  the 
happiness  with  which  it  glowed.  Ellis  went  in  alone. 
In  the  rector's   absence  it    was  practically  a  family 


20  THE  MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

party  wliich  sat  down,  with  tlie  exception  of  Ellis, 
wlio,  as  we  have  seen,  would  willingly  have  placed 
himself  in  the  same  category. 

The  table  was  tastefully  decorated  with  flowers, 
which  grew  about  the  house  in  lavish  profusion.  In 
warm  climates  nature  adorns  herself  with  true  fem- 
inine vanity. 

"  What  a  beautiful  table !  "  exclaimed  Tom,  before 
they  were  seated. 

"  The  decorations  are  mine,"  said  Clara  proudly. 
"  I  cut  the  flowers  and  arranged  them  all  myself." 

"  Which  accounts  for  the  admirable  effect,"  re- 
joined Tom  with  a  bow,  before  Ellis,  to  whom  the 
same  thought  had  occurred,  was  able  to  express  him- 
self. He  had  always  counted  himself  the  least  envious 
of  men,  but  for  this  occasion  he  coveted  Tom  Dela- 
mere's  readiness. 

"  The  beauty  of  the  flowers,"  observed  old  Mr. 
Delamere,  with  sententious  gallantry,  "  is  reflected 
uj)on  all  around  them.     It  is  a  handsome  company." 

Mrs.  Ochiltree  beamed  upon  the  table  with  a  dry 
smile. 

"  I  don't  perceive  any  effect  that  it  has  upon  you 
or  me,"  she  said.  "  And  as  for  the  young  people, 
'  Handsome  is  as  handsome  does.'  If  Tom  here,  for 
instance,  were  as  good  as  he  looks  "  — 

"  You  flatter  me,  Aunt  Polly,"  Tom  broke  in  hastily, 
anticipating  the  crack  of  the  whip  ;  he  was  familiar 
with  his  aunt's  conversational  idiosyncrasies. 

"  If  you  are  as  good  as  you  look,"  continued  the 
old  lady,  with  a  cunning  but  indulgent  smile,  "  some 
one  has  been  slandering  you." 

"  Thanks,  Aunt  Polly  !     Now  you  don't  flatter  me." 

"  There    is    Mr.    Ellis,"  Mrs.    Ochiltree  went    on. 


THE   CHRISTENING   PARTY  21 

"  who  is  not  half  so  good-looking,  but  is  steady  as  a 
clock,  I  dare  say." 

"  Now,  Aunt  Polly,"  inter j)osed  Mrs.  Carteret,  "  let 
the  gentlemen  alone." 

"  She  does  n't  mean  half  what  she  says,"  continued 
Mrs.  Carteret  apologetically,  "  and  only  talks  tliat 
way  to  people  whom  she  likes." 

Tom  threw  Mrs.  Carteret  a  grateful  glance.  He 
had  been  apprehensive,  with  the  sensitiveness  of  youth, 
lest  his  old  great-aunt  should  make  a  fool  of  him 
before  Clara's  family.  Nor  had  he  relished  the  com- 
parison with  Ellis,  who  was  out  of  place,  anyway,  in 
this  family  party.  He  had  never  liked  the  fellow, 
who  was  too  much  of  a  plodder  and  a  prig  to  make  a 
suitable  associate  for  a  whole-souled,  generous-hearted 
young  gentleman:  He  tolerated  him  as  a  visitor  at 
Carteret's  and  as  a  member  of  the  Clarendon  Club, 
but  that  was  all. 

"  Mrs.  Ochiltree  has  a  characteristic  way  of  dis- 
guising her  feelings,"  observed  old  Mr.  Delamere,  with 
a  touch  of  sarcasm. 

Ellis  had  merely  flushed  and  felt  uncomfortable  at 
the  reference  to  himself.  The  compliment  to  his 
character  hardly  offset  the  reflection  upon  his  looks. 
He  knew  he  was  not  exactly  handsome,  but  it  was  not 
pleasant  to  have  the  fact  emphasized  in  the  presence 
of  the  girl  he  loved ;  he  would  like  at  least  fair  play, 
and  judgment  ujoon  the  subject  left  to  the  young  lady. 

Mrs.  Ochiltree  was  quietly  enjoying  herself.  In 
early  life  she  had  been  accustomed  to  impale  fools  on 
epigrams,  like  flies  on  pins,  to  see  them  wriggle.  But 
with  advancing  years  she  had  lost  in  some  measure  the 
faculty  of  nice  discrimination,  —  it  was  pleasant  to  see 
her  victims  squirm,  whether  they  were  fools  or  friends. 


22  THE   MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

Even  one's  friends,  she  argued,  were  not  always  wise, 
and  were  sometimes  the  better  for  being  told  the  truth. 
At  her  niece's  table  she  felt  at  liberty  to  speak  her 
mind,  which  she  invariably  did,  with  a  frankness  that 
sometimes  bordered  on  brutality.  She  had  long  ago 
outgrown  the  period  where  ambition  or  passion,  or  its 
partners,  envy  and  hatred,  were  springs  of  action  in 
her  life,  and  simply  retained  a  mild  enjoyment  in  the 
exercise  of  an  old  habit,  with  no  active  malice  what- 
ever. The  ruling  passion  merely  grew  stronger  as  the 
restraining  faculties  decreased  in  vigor. 

A  diversion  was  created  at  this  point  by  the  appear- 
ance of  old  Mammy  Jane,  dressed  in  a  calico  frock, 
with  clean  white  neckerchief  and  apron,  carrying  the 
wonderful  baby  in  honor  of  whose  naming  this  feast 
had  been  given.  Though  only  six  weeks  old,  the 
little  Theodore  had  grown  rapidly,  and  Mammy  Jane 
declared  was  already  quite  large  for  his  age,  and  dis- 
played signs  of  an  unusually  precocious  intelligence. 
He  was  passed  around  the  table  and  duly  admired. 
Clara  thought  his  hair  was  fine.  Ellis  inquired  about 
bis  teeth.  Tom  put  his  finger  in  the  baby's  fist  to 
test  his  grip.  Old  Mr.  Delamere  was  unable  to  decide 
as  yet  whether  he  favored  most  his  father  or  his 
mother.  The  object  of  these  attentions  endured  them 
patiently  for  several  minutes,  and  then  protested  with 
a  vocal  vigor  which  led  to  his  being  taken  promptly 
back  upstairs.  Whatever  fate  might  be  in  store  for 
him,  he  manifested  no  sign  of  weak  lungs. 

"  Sandy,"  said  Mrs.  Carteret  when  the  baby  had 
retired,  "  pass  that  tray  standing  upon  the  side  table, 
so  that  we  may  all  see  the  presents." 

Mr.  Delamere  had  brought  a  silver  spoon,  and  Tom 
a  napkin  ring.     Ellis  had  sent  a  silver  watch  ;  it  was 


THE   CHRISTENING   PARTY  23 

a  little  premature,  he  admitted,  but  the  boy  would 
grow  to  it,  and  could  use  it  to  play  with  in  the  mean 
time.  It  had  a  glass  back,  so  that  he  might  see  the 
wheels  go  round.  Mrs.  Ochiltree's  present  was  an 
old  and  yellow  ivory  rattle,  with  a  handle  which  the 
child  could  bite  while  teething,  and  a  knob  screwed 
on  at  the  end  to  prevent  the  handle  from  slipping 
through  the  baby's  hand. 

"  I  saw  that  in  your  cedar  chest.  Aunt  Polly,"  said 
Clara,  "  when  I  was  a  little  girl,  and  you  used  to  pull 
the  chest  out  from  under  your  bed  to  get  me  a  dime." 

"  You  kept  the  rattle  in  the  right-hand  corner  of 
the  chest,"  said  Tom,  "  in  the  box  with  the  red  silk 
purse,  from  which  you  took  the  gold  piece  you  gave 
me  every  Christmas." 

A  smile  shone  on  Mrs.  Ochiltree's  severe  features 
at  this  appreciation,  like  a  ray  of  sunlight  on  a  snow- 
bank. 

"Aunt  Polly's  chest  is  like  the  widow's  cruse," 
said  Mrs.  Carteret,  "  which  was  never  empty." 

"  Or  Fortunatus's  purse,  which  was  always  full," 
added  old  Mr.  Delamere,  who  read  the  Latin  jDoets, 
and  whose  allusions  were  apt  to  be  classical  rather 
than  scriptural. 

"  It  will  last  me  while  I  live,"  said  Mrs.  Ochiltree, 
adding  cautiously,  "  but  there  '11  not  be  a  great  deal 
left.  It  won't  take  much  to  support  an  old  woman 
for  twenty  years." 

Mr.  Delamere's  man  Sandy  had  been  waiting  upon 
the  table  with  the  decorum  of  a  trained  butler,  and  a 
gravity  all  his  own.  He  had  changed  his  suit  of  plain 
gray  for  a  long  blue  coat  with  brass  buttons,  which 
dated  back  to  the  fashion  of  a  former  generation, 
with  which  he  wore  a  pair  of  plaid  trousers  of  strik- 


24  THE   MARROW   OF   TRADITION 

ingly  modern  cut  and  pattern.  With  his  whiskers, 
his  spectacles,  and  his  solemn  air  of  responsibility,  he 
would  have  presented,  to  one  unfamiliar  with  the 
negro  ty23e,  an  amusingly  impressive  appearance.  But 
there  was  nothing  incongruous  about  Sandy  to  this 
company,  except  perhaps  to  Tom  Delamere,  who 
possessed  a  keen  eye  for  contrasts  and  always  re- 
garded Sandy,  in  that  particular  rig,  as  a  very  comical 
darkey. 

"  Is  it  quite  prudent,  Mrs.  Ochiltree,"  suggested 
the  major  at  a  moment  when  Sandy,  having  set  down 
the  tray,  had  left  the  room  for  a  little  while,  "  to  men- 
tion, in  the  presence  of  the  servants,  that  you  keep 
money  in  the  house  ?  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  major,"  observed  old  Mr. 
Delamere,  with  a  touch  of  stiffness.  "  The  only  ser- 
vant in  hearing  of  the  conversation  has  been  my  own ; 
and  Sandy  is  as  honest  as  any  man  in  Wellington." 

"  You  mean,  sir,"  replied  Carteret,  with  a  smile, 
"  as  honest  as  any  negro  in  Wellington." 

"I  make  no  exceptions,  major,"  returned  the  old 
gentleman,  with  emphasis.  "  I  would  trust  Sandy 
with  my  life,  —  he  saved  it  once  at  the  risk  of  his 
own." 

"  No  doubt,"  mused  the  major,  "  the  negro  is 
capable  of  a  certain  dogiike  fidelity,  —  I  make  the 
comparison  in  a  kindly  sense,  —  a  certain  personal 
devotion  which  is  admirable  in  itself,  and  fits  him 
eminently  for  a  servile  career.  I  should  imagine, 
however,  that  one  could  more  safely  trust  his  life 
with  a  negro  than  his  23ortable  property." 

"  Very  clever,  major  !  I.  read  your  paper,  and 
know  that  your  feeling  is  hostile  toward  the  negro, 
but "  — 


THE   CHRISTENING  PARTY  25 

The  major  made  a  gesture  o£  dissent,  but  remained 
courteously  silent  until  Mr.  Delamere  had  finished. 

"  For  my  part,"  the  old  gentleman  went  on,  "  I 
think  they  have  done  very  well,  considering  what  they 
started  from,  and  their  limited  opportunities.  There 
was  Adam  Miller,  for  instance,  who  left  a  comforta- 
ble estate.  His  son  George  carries  on  the  business, 
and  the  younger  boy,  William,  is  a  good  doctor  and 
stands  well  with  his  j^rofession.  His  hospital  is  a 
good  thing,  and  if  my  estate  were  clear,  I  should  like 
to  do  something  for  it." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  sir,  in  imagining  me  hostile  to 
the  negro,"  explained  Carteret.  "  On  the  contrary, 
I  am  friendly  to  his  best  interests.  I  give  him  em- 
ployment ;  I  pay  taxes  for  schools  to  educate  him, 
and  for  court-houses  and  jails  to  keep  him  in  order. 
I  merely  object  to  being  governed  by  an  inferior  and 
servile  race." 

Mrs.  Carteret's  face  wore  a  tired  expression.  This 
question  was  her  husband's  hobby,  and  therefore  her 
own  nightmare.  Moreover,  she  had  her  personal 
grievance  against  the  negro  race,  and  the  names  men- 
tioned by  old  Mr.  Delamere  had  brought  it  vividly 
before  her  mind.  She  had  no  desire  to  mar  the  har- 
mony of  the  occasion  by  the  discussion  of  a  distasteful 
subject. 

Mr.  Delamere,  glancing  at  his  hostess,  read  some- 
thing of  this  thought,  and  refused  the  challenge  to 
further  argument. 

"  I  do  not  believe,  major,"  he  said,  "  that  Olivia 
relishes  the  topic.  I  merely  ^vish  to  say  that  Sandy 
is  an  exception  to  any  rule  which  you  may  formulate 
in  derogation  of  the  negro.  Sandy  is  a  gentleman  in 
ebony  !  " 


-A 


26  THE  MARROAV  OF  TRADITION" 

Tom  could  scarcely  preserve  his  gravity  at  tliis 
characterization  of  old  Sandy,  with  his  ridiculous 
air  of  importance,  his  long  blue  coat,  and  his  loud 
plaid  trousers.  That  suit  would  make  a  great  costume 
for  a  masquerade.  He  would  borrow  it  some  time,  — 
there  was  nothing  in  the  world  like  it. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Delamere,"  returned  the  major  good- 
humoredly,  "  no  doubt  Sandy  is  an  exceptionally  good 
negro,  —  he  might  well  be,  for  he  has  had  the  benefit 
of  your  example  all  his  life,  —  and  we  know  that  he 
is  a  faithful  servant.  But  nevertheless,  if  I  were 
Mrs.  Ochiltree,  I  should  put  my  money  in  the  bank. 
Not  all  negroes  are  as  honest  as  Sandy,  and  an  elderly 
lady  might  not  prove  a  match  for  a  burly  black 
burglar." 

"  Thank  you,  major,"  retorted  Mrs.  Ochiltree,  with 
spirit,  "  I  'm  not  yet  too  old  to  take  care  of  myself. 
That  cedar  chest  has  been  my  bank  for  forty  years, 
and  I  shall  not  change  my  habits  at  my  age." 

At  this  moment  Sandy  reentered  the  room.  Car- 
teret made  a  warning  gesture,  which  Mrs.  Ochiltree 
chose  not  to  notice. 

"  I  've  proved  a  match  for  two  husbands,  and  am 
not  afraid  of  any  man  that  walks  the  earth,  black  or 
white,  by  day  or  night.  I  have  a  revolver,  and  know 
how  to  use  it.  Whoever  attempts  to  rob  me  will  do 
so  at  his  peril." 

After  dinner  Clara  played  the  piano  and  sang  duets 
with  Tom  Delamere.  At  nine  o'clock  Mr.  Delamere's 
carriage  came  for  him,  and  he  went  away  accompa- 
nied by  Sandy.  Under  cover  of  the  darkness  the  old 
gentleman  leaned  on  his  servant's  arm  with  frank 
dependence,  and  Sandy  lifted  him  into  the  carriage 
with  every  mark  of  devotion. 


THE   CHRISTENING   PARTY  27 

Ellis  liad  already  excused  himself  to  go  to  the 
office  and  look  over  the  late  proofs  for  the  morning 
paper.  Tom  remained  a  few  minutes  longer  than  his 
grandfather,  and  upon  taking  his  leave  went  round  to 
the  Clarendon  Club,  where  he  spent  an  hour  or  two 
in  the  card-room  with  a  couple  of  congenial  friends. 
Luck  seemed  to  favor  him,  and  he  went  home  at  mid- 
night with  a  comfortable  balance  of  winnings.  He 
was  fond  of  excitement,  and  found  a  great  deal  of  it 
in  cards.  To  lose  was  only  less  exciting  than  to  win. 
Of  late  he  had  developed  into  a  very  successful  player, 
—  so  successful,  indeed,  that  several  members  of  the 
club  generally  found  excuses  to  avoid  participating  in 
a  game  where  he  made  one. 


Ill 

THE   EDITOK   AT   WORK 

To  go  back  a  little,  for  several  clays  after  his  cliilcl's 
birth  Major  Carteret's  chief  interest  in  life  had  been 
confined  to  the  fonr  walls  of  the  chamber  where  his 
pale  wife  lay  upon  her  bed  of  pain,  and  those  of  the 
adjoining  room  where  an  old  black  woman  crooned 
lovino'ly  over  a  little  white  infant.  A  new  element  had 
been  added  to  the  major's  consciousness,  broadening 
the  scope  and  deepening  the  strength  of  his  affections. 
He  did  not  love  Olivia  the  less,  for  maternity  had 
crowned  her  wifehood  with  an  added  glory ;  but  side 
by  side  with  this  old  and  tried  attachment  was  a  new 
passion,  stirring  up  dormant  hopes  and  kindling  new 
desires.  His  regret  had  been  more  than  personal  at 
the  thought  that  with  himself  an  old  name  should  be 
lost  to  the  State  ;  and  now  all  the  old  pride  of  race, 
class,  and  family  welled  up  anew,  and  swelled  and 
quickened  the  current  of  his  life. 

Upon  the  major's  first  appearance  at  the  office, 
which  took  place  the  second  day  after  the  child's 
birth,  he  opened  a  box  of  cigars  in  honor  of  the 
event.  The  word  had  been  passed  around  by  Ellis, 
and  the  whole  office  force,  including  reporters,  com- 
positors, and  pressmen,  came  in  to  congratulate  the 
major  and  smoke  at  his  expense.  Even  Jerry,  the  col- 
ored porter,  —  Mammy  Jane's  grandson  and  therefore 
a  protege  of  the  family,  —  presented  himself  among  the 


THE   EDITOR  AT  WORK  29 

rest,  or  rather,  after  the  rest.  The  major  shook  hands 
with  them  all  except  Jerry,  though  he  acknowledged 
the  porter's  congratulations  with  a  kind  nod  and  put 
a  good  cigar  into  his  outstretched  palm,  for  which 
Jerry  thanked  him  without  manifesting  any  conscious- 
ness of  the  omission.  He  was  quite  aware  that  under 
ordinary  circumstances  the  major  would  not  have 
shaken  hands  with  white  workingmen,  to  say  nothing 
of  negroes ;  and  he  had  merely  hoped  that  in  the 
pleasurable  distraction  of  the  moment  the  major  might 
also  overlook  the  distinction  of  color.  Jerry's  hope 
had  been  shattered,  though  not  rudely ;  for  the  major 
had  spoken  pleasantly  and  the  cigar  was  a  good  one. 
Mr.  Ellis  had  once  shaken  hands  with  Jerry,  —  but 
Mr.  Ellis  was  a  young  man,  whose  Quaker  father  had 
never  owned  any  slaves,  and  he  could  not  be  expected 
to  have  as  much  pride  as  one  of  the  best  "  quality," 
whose  families  had  possessed  land  and  negroes  for 
time  out  of  mind.  On  the  whole,  Jerry  preferred 
the  careless  nod  of  the  editor-in-chief  to  the  more 
familiar  greeting  of  the  subaltern. 

Having  finished  this  pleasant  ceremony,  which  left 
him  with  a  comfortable  sense  of  his  new  dignity,  the 
major  turned  to  his  desk.  It  had  been  much  neg- 
lected during  the  week,  and  more  than  one  matter 
claimed  his  attention  ;  but  as  typical  of  the  new  trend 
of  his  thoughts,  the  first  subject  he  took  up  was  one 
bearing  upon  the  future  of  his  son.  Quite  obviously 
the  career  of  a  Carteret  must  not  be  left  to  chance,  — 
it  must  be  planned  and  worked  out  with  a  due  sense 
of  the  value  of  good  blood. 

There  lay  upon  his  desk  a  letter  from  a  well-known 
promoter,  offering  the  major  an  investment  which 
promised  large   returns,   though  several  years  must 


30  THE  MARRO^Y  OF  TRADITION 

elapse  before  the  enterprise  could  be  put  upon  a  pay- 
ing basis.  The  element  of  time,  however,  was  not  imme- 
diately important.  The  Morning  Chronicle  provided 
him  an  ample  income.  The  money  available  for  this 
investment  was  part  of  his  wife's  patrimony.  It  was 
invested  in  a  local  cotton  mill,  which  was  paying  ten 
per  cent.,  but  this  was  a  beggarly  return  compared 
with  the  immense  profits  promised  by  the  offered  in- 
vestment, —  profits  which  would  enable  his  son,  upon 
reaching  manhood,  to  take  a  place  in  the  world  com- 
mensurate with  the  dignity  of  his  ancestors,  one  of 
whom,  only  a  few  generations  removed,  had  owned  an 
estate  of  ninety  thousand  acres  of  land  and  six  thou- 
1^        sand  slaves. 

This  letter  having  been  disposed  of  by  an  answer 
accepting  the  offer,  the  major  took  up  his  pen  to  write 
an  editorial.  Public  affairs  in  the  state  were  not 
going  to  his  satisfaction.  At  the  last  state  election 
his  own  party,  after  an  almost  unbroken  rule  of 
twenty  years,  had  been  defeated  by  the  so-called 
"  Fusion  "  ticket,  a  combination  of  Republicans  and 
Populists.  A  clean  sweep  had  been  made  of  the 
offices  in  the  state,  which  were  now  filled  hj  new 
men.  Many  of  the  smaller  places  had  gone  to  colored 
men,  their  people  having  voted  almost  solidly  for  the 
Fusion  ticket.  In  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  popula- 
tion of  Wellington  was  two  thirds  colored,  this  state 
of  things  was  gall  and  wormwood  to  the  defeated 
party,  of  which  the  Morning  Chronicle  was  the 
acknowledged  organ.  Major  Carteret  shared  this 
feeling.  Only  this  very  morning,  while  passing  the 
city  hall,  on  his  way  to  the  office,  he  had  seen  the 
steps  of  that  noble  building  disfigured  by  a  fringe  of 
job-hunting  negroes,  for  all  the  world  —  to  use  a  local 


THE   EDITOR  AT  WORK  31 

simile  —  like  a  string  of  buzzards  sitting  on  a  rail, 
awaiting  their  opportunity  to  batten  upon  the  helpless 
corpse  of  a  moribund  city. 

Taking  for  his  theme  the  unfitness  of  the  negro  to 
participate  in  government,  —  an  unfitness  due  to  his 
limited  education,  his  lack  of  experience,  his  criminal 
tendencies,  and  more  especially  to  his  hopeless  mental 
and  physical  inferiority  to  the  white  race,  —  the  major 
had  demonstrated,  it  seemed  to  him  clearly  enough, 
that  the  ballot  in  the  hands  of  the  negro  was  a  menace 
to  the  commonwealth.  He  had  argued,  with  entire 
conviction,  that  the  white  and  black  races  could  never 
attain  social  and  political  harmony  by  commingling 
their  blood  ;  he  had  proved  by  several  historical  par- 
allels that  no  two  unassimilable  races  could  ever  live 
together  except  in  the  relation  of  superior  and  in- 
ferior ;  and  he  was  just  dipping  his  gold  pen  into  the 
ink  to  indite  his  conclusions  from  the  premises  thus 
established,  when  Jerry,  the  porter,  announced  two 
visitors. 

"  Gin'l  Belmont  an'  Cap'n  McBane  would  like  ter 
see  you,  suh." 

"  Show  them  in,  Jerrv." 

The  man  who  entered  first  upon  this  invitation  was 
a  dapper  little  gentleman  with  light-blue  ej^es  and  a 
Vandyke  beard.  He  wore  a  frock  coat,  patent  leather 
shoes,  and  a  Panama  hat.  There  were  crow's-feet 
about  his  eyes,  which  twinkled  with  a  hard  and,  at 
times,  humorous  shrewdness.  He  had  sloping  shoul- 
ders, small  hands  and  feet,  and  walked  with  the  lei- 
surely step  characteristic  of  those  who  have  been 
reared  under  hot  suns. 

Carteret  gave  his  hand  cordially  to  the  gentleman 
thus  described. 


32  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

"  How  do  you  do,  Captain  McBane,"  he  said,  turn- 
ing to  the  second  visitor. 

The  individual  thus  addressed  was  strikingly  differ- 
ent in  appearance  from  his  companion.  His  broad 
shoulders,  burly  form,  square  jaw,  and  heavy  chin 
betokened  strength,  energy,  and  unscrupulousness. 
AVith  the  exception  of  a  small,  bristling  mustache,  his 
face  was  clean  shaven,  with  here  and  there  a  speck  of 
dried  blood  due  to  a  carelessly  or  unskillfully  handled 
razor.  A  single  deep-set  gray  eye  was  shadowed  by  a 
beetling  brow,  over  which  a  crop  of  coarse  black  hair, 
slightly  streaked  with  gray,  fell  almost  low  enough  to 
mingle  with  his  black,  bushy  eyebrows.  His  coat  had 
not  been  brushed  for  several  days,  if  one  might  judge 
from  the  accumulation  of  dandruff  uj^on  the  collar, 
and  his  shirt-front,  in  the  middle  of  which  blazed  a 
showy  diamond,  was  plentifully  stained  with  tobacco 
juice.  He  wore  a  large  slouch  hat,  which,  upon  enter- 
ing the  office,  he  removed  and  held  in  his  hand. 

Having  greeted  this  person  with  an  unconscious  but 
quite  perceptible  diminution  of  the  warmth  wdth  which 
he  had  welcomed  the  other,  the  major  looked  around 
the  room  for  seats  for  his  visitors,  and  perceiving  only 
one  chair,  piled  with  exchanges,  and  a  broken  stool 
propped  against  the  wall,  pushed  a  button,  which  rang 
a  bell  in  the  hall,  summoning  the  colored  porter  to  his 
presence. 

"  Jerry,"  said  the  editor  when  his  servant  appeared, 
"  bring  a  couple  of  chairs  for  these  gentlemen." 

While  they  stood  waiting,  the  visitors  congratulated 
the  major  on  the  birth  of  his  child,  which  had  been 
announced  in  the  Morning  Chronicle,  and  which  the 
prominence  of  the  family  made  in  some  degree  a  mat- 
ter of  public  interest. 


THE  EDITOR  AT  WORK  33 

"  And  now  that  you  have  a  son,  major,"  remarked 
the  gentleman  first  described,  as  he  lit  one  of  the 
major's  cigars,  "  yon  '11  be  all  the  more  interested 
in  doing  something  to  make  this  town  fit  to  live  in^ 
which  is  what  we  came  up  to  talk  about.  Things  are 
in  an  awful  condition  !  A  negro  justice  of  the  peace 
has  opened  an  office  on  Market  Street,  and  onl}^  yester- 
day summoned  a  white  man  to  appear  before  him. 
Negro  lawyers  get  most  of  the  business  in  the  criminal 
court.  Last  evening  a  group  of  young  white  ladies, 
going  quietly  along  the  street  arm-in-arm,  were  forced 
off  the  sidewalk  by  a  crowd  of  negro  girls.  Coming 
down  the  street  just  now,  I  saw  a  spectacle  of  social 
equality  and  negro  domination  that  made  my  blood 
boil  with  indignation,  —  a  white  and  a  black  convict, 
chained  together,  crossing  the  city  in  charge  of  a 
negro  officer  !  We  cannot  stand  that  sort  of  thing, 
Carteret,  —  it  is  the  last  straw  !  Something  must 
be  done,  and  that  quickly !  " 

The  major  thrilled  with  responsive  emotion.  There 
was  something  prophetic  in  this  oj^portune  visit.  The 
matter  was  not  only  in  his  own  thoughts,  but  in  the 
air ;  it  was  the  spontaneous  revulsion  of  white  men 
against  the  rule  of  an  inferior  race.  These  were  the 
very  men,  above  all  others  in  the  town,  to  join  him 
in  a  movement  to  change  these  degrading  conditions. 

General  Belmont,  the  smaller  of  the  two,  was  a  man 
of  good  family,  a  lawyer  by  profession,  and  took  an 
active  part  in  state  and  local  politics.  Aristocratic 
by  birth  and  instinct,  and  a  former  owner  of  slaves, 
his  conception  of  the  obligations  and  rights  of  his  caste 
was  nevertheless  somewhat  lower  than  that  of  the 
narrower  but  more  sincere  Carteret.  In  serious  affairs 
Carteret  desired  the  approval  of  his  conscience,  even  if 


34  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

he  had  to  trick  that  docile  organ  into  acquiescence. 
This  was  not  difficult  to  do  in  politics,  for  he  believed 
in  the  divine  right  of  white  men  and  gentlemen,  as  his 
ancestors  had  believed  in  and  died  for  the  divine  right 
of  kings.  General  Belmont  was  not  without  a  gentle- 
man's distaste  for  meanness,  but  he  permitted  no  fine 
scruples  to  stand  in  the  way  of  success.  He  had  once 
been  minister,  under  a  Democratic  administration,  to 
a  small  Central  American  state.  Political  rivals  had 
characterized  him  as  a  tricky  demagogue,  which  may 
of  course  have  been  a  libel.  He  had  an  amiable  dis- 
position, possessed  the  gift  of  eloquence,  and  was  a 
prime  social  favorite. 

Captain  George  McBane  had  sprung  from  the  poor- 
white  class,  to  which,  even  more  than  to  the  slaves, 
the  abolition  of  slavery  had  opened  the  door  of  oppor- 
tunity. No  longer  overshadowed  by  a  slaveholding 
caste,  some  of  this  class  had  rapidly  pushed  themselves 
forward.  Some  had  made  honorable  records.  Others, 
foremost  in  negro-baiting  and  election  frauds,  had  done 
the  dirty  work  of  politics,  as  their  fathers  had  done 
that  of  slavery,  seeking  their  reward  at  first  in  minor 
offices,  —  for  which  men  of  gentler  breeding  did  not 
care,  —  until  their  ambition  began  to  reach  out  for 
higher  honors. 

Of  this  class  McBane  —  whose  captaincy,  by  the 
way,  was  merely  a  polite  fiction  —  had  been  one  of 
the  most  successful.  He  had  held,  until  recently,  as  the 
reward  of  questionable  political  services,  a  contract 
with  the  State  for  its  convict  labor,  from  which  in  a 
fev\^  years  he  had  realized  a  fortune.  But  the  methods 
which  made  his  contract  profitable  had  not  commended 
themselves  to  humane  people,  and  charges  of  cruelty 
and  worse  had  been  preferred  against  him.     He  was 


THE   EDITOR   AT   WORK  35 

rich  enough  to  escape  serious  consequences  from  the 
investigation  which  followed,  but  when  the  Fusion 
ticket  carried  the  state  he  lost  his  contract,  and  the 
system  of  convict  labor  was  abolished.  Since  then 
McBane  had  devoted  himself  to  politics :  he  was  am- 
bitious for  greater  wealth,  for  office,  and  for  social 
recognition.  A  man  of  few  words  and  self-engrossed, 
he  seldom  spoke  of  his  aspirations  except  where  speech 
might  favor  them,  preferring  to  seek  bis  ends  by  secret 
"  deals "  and  combinations  rather  than  to  challenge 
criticism  and  provoke  rivalry  by  more  open  methods. 

At  sight,  therefore,  of  these  two  men,  with  whose 
careers  and  characters  he  w^as  entirely  familiar,  Car- 
teret felt  sweep  over  his  mind  the  con^dction  that  now 
was  the  time  and  these  the  instruments  with  w^hich  to 
undertake  the  redemption  of  the  state  from  the  evil 
fate  which  had  befallen  it. 

Jerry,  the  porter,  who  had  gone  downstairs  to  the 
counting-room  to  find  two  whole  chairs,  now  entered 
with  one  in  each  hand.  He  set  a  chair  for  the  general, 
who  gave  him  an  amiable  nod,  to  which  Jerry  responded 
wdth  a  bow  and  a  scrape.  Captain  McBane  made  no 
acknowledgment,  but  fixed  Jerry  so  fiercely  with,  his 
single  eye  that  upon  placing  the  chair  Jerry  made  his 
escape  from  the  room  as  raj^idly  as  possible. 

"  I  don'  like  dat  Cap'n  McBane,"  he  muttered,  upon 
reaching  the  hall.  ''  Dey  says  he  got  dat  e3'e  knock' 
out  tryin'  ter  whip  a  cullud  'oman,  when  he  wuz  a  boy, 
an'  dat  he  ain'  never  had  no  use  fer  nio'oers  sence,  — 
'cep'n'  fer  what  he  could  make  outen  'em  wid  his  con- 
vie'  labor  contrac's.  His  daddy  wuz  a'  overseer  befo' 
'im,  an'  it  come  nachul  fer  him  ter  be  a  nio:o:er-driver. 
I  don'  want  dat  one  eye  er  his'n  restin'  on  me  no 
longer  'n  I  kin  he'p,  an'  I  don'  know  how  I  'm  gwine 


36  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

ter  like  clis  job  ef  lie  's  gwine  ter  be  comin'  roun'  here. 
He  ain'  iiothin'  but  po'  w'ite  trash  nohow ;  but  Lawd  ! 
Lawd  !  look  at  de  money  he  's  got,  —  livin'  at  de  hotel, 
wearin'  di'mon's,  an'  colloguin'  wid  de  bes'  quality  er 
dis  town !  'Pears  ter  me  de  bottom  rail  is  gittin' 
mighty  close  ter  de  top.  ^Vell,  I  s'pose  it  all  comes 
f'm  bein'  w'ite.     I  wnsh  ter  Gawd  I  wuz  w'ite !  " 

After  this  fervent  aspiration,  having  nothing  else  to 
do  for  the  time  being,  except  to  remain  within  call, 
and  having  caught  a  few  words  of  the  conversation 
as  he  went  in  with  the  chairs,  Jerry,  wdio  possessed  a 
certain  amount  of  curiosity,  placed  close  to  the  wall 
the  broken  stool  upon  which  he  sat  while  waiting  in 
the  hall,  and  aj^plied  his  ear  to  a  hole  in  the  plastering 
of  the  hallway.  There  w^as  a  similar  defect  in  the 
inner  wall,  between  the  same  two  pieces  of  studding, 
and  while  this  inner  opening  was  not  exactly  oj^posite 
the  outer,  Jerry  was  enabled,  through  the  two,  to 
catch  in  a  more  or  less  fragmentary  way  what  was 
going  on  within. 

He  could  hear  the  major,  now  and  then,  use  the 
word  "  negro,"  and  McBane's  deep  voice  was  quite 
audible  when  he  referred,  it  seemed  to  Jerry  with 
alarming  frequency,  to  "  the  damned  niggers,"  while 
the  general's  suave  tones  now  and  then  pronounced  the 
word  "  niggro,  "  —  a  sort  of  compromise  between  eth- 
nology and  the  vernacular.  That  the  gentlemen  were 
talking  politics  seemed  quite  likely,  for  gentlemen 
generally  talked  politics  when  they  met  at  the  Chron- 
icle office.  Jerry  could  hear  the  words  "  vote,"  "  fran- 
chise," "  eliminate,"  "  constitution,"  and  other  expres- 
sions which  marked  the  general  tenor  of  the  talk, 
though  he  could  not  follow  it  all,  —  partly  because  he 
could  not  hear  everything  distinctly,  and  partly  because 


THE  EDITOR  AT  WORK  37 

of  certain  limitations  wliich  nature  had  placed  In  tlie 
way  of  Jerry's  understanding  anything  very  difficult 
or  abstruse. 

He  had  gathered  enough,  however,  to  realize,  in  a 
vague  way,  that  something  serious  was  on  foot,  in- 
volving his  own  race,  when  a  bell  sounded  over  his 
head,  at  which  he  sprang  up  hastily  and  entered  the 
room  where  the  gentlemen  were  talking. 

"  Jerry,"  said  the  major,  "  wait  on  Captain  Mc- 
Bane." 

"  Yas,  suh,"  responded  Jerry,  turning  toward  the 
captain,  whose  eye  he  carefully  avoided  meeting 
directly. 

"  Take  that  half  a  dollar,  boy,"  ordered  McBane, 
"  an'  go  'cross  the  street  to  Mr.  Sykes's,  and  tell  him 
to  send  me  three  whiskies.  Bring  back  the  change, 
and  make  has'e." 

The  captain  tossed  the  half  dollar  at  Jerry,  who, 
looking  to  one  side,  of  course  missed  it.  He  picked 
the  money  up,  however,  and  backed  out  of  the  room. 
Jerry  did  not  like  Captain  McBane,  to  begin  with,  and 
it  was  clear  that  the  captain  was  no  gentleman,  or  he 
would  not  have  thrown  the  money  at  him.  Consid- 
ering the  source,  Jerry  might  have  overlooked  this 
discourtesy  had  it  not  been  coupled  with  the  remark 
about  the  change,  which  seemed  to  him  in  very  poor 
taste. 

Returning  in  a  few  minutes  with  three  glasses  on  a 
tray,  he  passed  them  round,  handed  Captain  McBane 
his  change,  and  retired  to  the  hall. 

"  Gentlemen,"  exclaimed  the  captain,  lifting  his 
glass,  "  I  propose  a  toast :    '  No  nigger  domination.'  " 

"  Amen  I  "  said  the  others,  and  three  glasses  were 
solemnly  drained. 


38  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

"  Major,"  observed  the  general,  smacking  his  lips, 
"  I  should  like  to  use  Jerry  for  a  moment,  if  you  will 
permit  me." 

Jerry  appeared  promptly  at  the  sound  of  the  bell. 
He  had  remained  conveniently  near,  —  calls  of  this 
sort  were  apt  to  come  in  sequence. 

"Jerry,"  said  the  general,  handing  Jerry  half   a 

dollar,  "  go  over  to  Mr.  Brown's,  —  I  get  my  liquor 

there,  —  and  tell  them  to  send  me  three  glasses  of  my 

^C  special    mixture.     And,  Jerry,  —  you    may  keep  the 

change  I  " 

"  Thank  y*,  gin'l,  thank  y',  marster,"  replied  Jerry, 
with  unctuous  gratitude,  bending  almost  double  as  he 
backed  out  of  the  room. 

"  Dat  's  a  gent'eman,  a  rale  ole-time  gent'eman,"  he 
said  to  himself  when  he  had  closed  the  door.  "  But 
dere  's  somethin'  gwine  on  in  dere,  —  dere  sho'  is ! 
'  No  nigger  damnation  !  '  Dat  soun's  all  right,  — 
I  'm  sho'  dere  ain'  no  nigger  I  knows  w'at  wants  dam- 
nation, do'  dere  's  lots  of  'em  w'at  deserves  it ;  but  ef 
dat  one-eyed  Cap'n  McBane  got  anything  ter  do  wid 
it,  w'atever  it  is,  it  don'  mean  no  good  fer  de  niggers, 
—  damnation  'd  be  better  fer  'em  dan  dat  Cap'n  Mc- 
Bane !  He  looks  at  a  nigger  lack  he  could  jes'  eat 
'im  alive." 

"  This  mixture,  gentlemen,"  observed  the  general 
when  Jerry  had  returned  with  the  glasses,  "  was  ori- 
ginally compounded  by  no  less  a  person  than  the  great 
John  C.  Calhoun  himself,  who  confided  the  recipe  to 
my  father  over  the  convivial  board.  In  this  nectar 
of  the  gods,  gentlemen,  I  drink  with  you  to  'White 
Supremacy!'" 

"  White  Supremacy  everywhere  I  "  added  McBane 
with  fervor. 


J 


THE  EDITOR  AT  WORK  39 

"  Now  and  forever  !  "  concluded  Carteret  solemnly. 

When  the  visitors,  half  an  hour  later,  had  taken 
their  departure,  Carteret,  inspired  by  the  theme,  and 
in  less  degree  by  the  famous  mixture  of  the  immortal 
Calhoun,  turned  to  his  desk  and  finished,  at  a  white 
heat,  his  famous  editorial  in  which  he  sounded  the 
tocsin  of  a  new  crusade. 

At  noon,  when  the  editor,  having  laid  down  his  pen, 
was  leaving  the  office,  he  passed  Jerry  in  the  hall 
without  a  word  or  a  nod.  The  major  wore  a  rapt  look, 
which  Jerry  observed  with  a  vague  uneasiness. 

"  He  looks  jes'  lack  he  wuz  walkin'  in  his  sleep," 
muttered  Jerry  uneasily.  "  Dere  's  somethin'  up,  sho  's 
you  bawn  I  '  No  nigger  damnation  ! '  Anybody  'd  'low 
dey  wuz  all  gwine  ter  heaven  ;  but  I  knows  better  ! 
Wen  a  passel  er  w'ite  folks  gits  ter  talkin'  'bout  de 
niggers  lack  dem  in  yander,  it 's  mo'  lackly  dey  're 
g^\ane  ter  ketch  somethin'  e'se  dan  heaven !  I  got  ter 
keep  my  eyes  open  an'  keej)  up  wid  w'at  's  happenin'. 
Ef  dere  's  gwine  ter  be  anudder  flood  'roun'  here,  I 
wants  ter  git  in  de  ark  wid  de  w'ite  folks,  —  I  may 
haf  ter  be  anudder  Ham,  an'  sta't  de  cullud  race  all 
over  ag'in." 


IV 

THEODORE   FELIX 

The  young  heir  of  the  Carterets  had  thriven  apace, 
and  at  six  months  old  was,  according  to  Mammy- 
Jane,  whose  experience  qualified  her  to  speak  with 
authority,  the  largest,  finest,  smartest,  and  altogether 
most  remarkable  baby  that  had  ever  lived  in  Welling- 
ton. Mammy  Jane  had  recently  suffered  from  an 
attack  of  inflammatory  rheumatism,  as  the  result  of 
which  she  had  returned  to  her  own  home.  She  never- 
theless came  now  and  then  to  see  Mrs.  Carteret.  A 
younger  nurse  had  been  procured  to  take  her  place, 
but  it  was  understood  that  Jane  would  come  whenever 
she  might  be  needed. 

"  You  really  mean  that  about  Dodie,  do  you.  Mammy 
Jane?"  asked  the  delighted  mother,  who  never  tired 
of  hearing  her  own  opinion  confirmed  concerning  this 
wonderful  child,  which  had  come  to  her  like  an  angel 
from  heaven. 

"  Does  I  mean  it !  "  exclaimed  Mammy  Jane,  with 
a  tone  and  an  expression  which  spoke  volumes  of  re- 
proach. "  Now,  Mis'  'Livy,  what  is  I  ever  uttered  er 
said  er  spoke  er  done  dat  would  make  you  s'pose  I 
could  tell  you  a  lie  'bout  yo'  own  chile?" 

"  No,  Mammy  Jane,  I  'm  sure  you  wouldn't." 

"  'Deed,  ma'am,  I  'm  tellin'  you  de  Lawd's  truf.  I 
don'  haf  ter  tell  no  lies  ner  strain  no  p'ints  'bout  my 
ole  mist'ess's  gran'chile.     Dis  yer  boy  is  de  ve'y  spit 


THEODORE  FELIX  41 

an'  image  er  yo'  brother,  young  Mars  Alick,  w'at  died 
w'en  he  wuz  'bout  eight  mont's  ole,  w'iles  I  wuz  laid 
off  havin'  a  baby  er  my  own,  an'  could  n'  be  roun'  ter 
look  after  'im.  An'  dis  chile  is  a  rale  quality  chile, 
he  is,  —  I  never  seed  a  baby  wid  sech  fine  hair  fer  his 
age,  ner  sech  blue  eyes,  ner  sech  a  grip,  ner  sech  a 
heft.  Wy,  dat  chile  mus'  weigh  'bout  twenty-fo' 
jDoun's,  an'  he  not  but  six  mont's  ole.  Does  dat  gal 
w'at  does  de  nussin'  w'iles  I*'m  gone  ten'  ter  dis 
chile  right,  Mis'  'Livy  ?  " 

"  She  does  fairly  well.  Mammy  Jane,  but  I  could 
hardly  expect  her  to  love  the  baby  as  you  do.  There  's 
no  one  like  you.  Mammy  Jane." 

"  'Deed  dere  ain't,  honey ;  you  is  talkin'  de  gospel 
truf  now !  None  er  dese  yer  young  folks  ain'  got  de 
trainin'  my  ole  mist'ess  give  me.  Dese  yer  new- 
fangle'  schools  don'  Tarn  'em  nothin'  ter  compare  wid 
it.  I  'm  jes'  gwine  ter  give  dat  gal  a  piece  er  my 
min',  befo'  I  go,  so  she  '11  ten'  ter  dis  chile  right." 

The  nurse  came  in  shortly  afterwards,  a  neat-looking 
brown  girl,  dressed  in  a  clean  calico  gown,  with  a 
nurse's  cap  and  apron. 

"  Look  a-here,  gal,"  said  Mammy  Jane  sternly,  "  I 
wants  you  ter  understan'  dat  you  got  ter  take  good 
keer  er  dis  chile  ;  fer  I  nussed  Lis  mammy  dere,  an' 
his  gran'mammy  befo'  'im,  an'  you  is  got  ^  priv'lege 
dat  mos'  lackly  you  don'  'preciate.  I  wants  you  to 
'member,  in  yo'  incomin's  an'  outgoin's,  dat  I  got  my 
eye  on  you,  an'  am  gwine  ter  see  dat  you  does  yo' 
wo'k  right." 

"Do  you  need  me  for  anything,  ma'am?"  asked 
the  young  nurse,  who  had  stood  before  Mrs.  Carteret, 
giving  Mammy  Jane  a  mere  passing  glance,  and 
listening  impassively  to   her   harangue.     The  nurse 


-f 


42  THE  MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

belonged  to  the  younger  generation  of  colored  people. 
She  had  graduated  from  the  mission  school,  and  had 
received  some  instruction  in  Dr.  Miller's  class  for 
nurses.  Standing,  like  most  young  people  of  her 
race,  on  the  border  line  between  two  irreconcilable 
states  of  life,  she  had  neither  the  picturesqueness  of 
the  slave,  nor  the  unconscious  dignity  of  those  of  whom 
freedom  has  been  the  immemorial  birthright ;  she  was 
in  what  might  be  called  the  chip-on-the-shoulder  stage, 
through  which  races  as  well  as  individuals  must  pass 
in  climbing  the  ladder  of  life,  —  not  an  interesting,  at 
least  not  an  agreeable  stage,  but  an  inevitable  one, 
and  for  that  reason  entitled  to  a  paragraph  in  a  story 
of  Southern  life,  which,  with  its  as  yet  imperfect 
blending  of  old  with  new,  of  race  with  race,  of  slavery 
with  freedom,  is  like  no  other  life  under  the  sun. 

Had  this  old  woman,  who  had  no  authority  over 
her,  been  a  little  more  polite,  or  a  little  less  offensive, 
the  nurse  might  have  returned  her  a  pleasant  answer. 
These  old-time  negroes,  she  said  to  herself,  made  her 
sick  with  their  slavering  over  the  white  folks,  who, 
she  supposed,  favored  them  and  made  much  of  them 
because  they  had  once  belonged  to  them,  —  much  the 
same  reason  why  they  fondled  their  cats  and  dogs. 
For  her  own  part,  they  gave  her  nothing  but  her 
wages,  and  small  wages  at  that,  and  she  owed  them 
nothing  more  than  equivalent  service.  It  was  purely 
a  matter  of  business  ;  she  sold  her  time  for  their 
money.     There  was  no  question  of  love  between  them. 

Receivinof  a  negfative  answer  from  Mrs.  Carteret, 
she  left  the  room  without  a  word,  ignoring  Mammy 
Jane  completely,  and  leaving  that  venerable  relic  of 
ante-bellum  times  gasping  in  helpless  astonishment. 

"  Well,  I  nevuh !  "  she  ejaculated,  as  soon  as  she 


THEODORE   FELIX  43 

could  get  her  breath,  "  ef  clat  ain'  de  beatinis'  pe'fo'm- 
ance  I  ever  seed  er  beared  of  !  Dese  yer  young  nig- 
gers ain'  got  de  manners  dey  wuz  bawned  wid !  I 
don'  know  w'at  dey  're  com  in'  to,  w'en  dey  ain'  got 
no  mo'  rispec'  fer  ole  age  —  I  don'  know  —  I  don' 
know  !  " 

"  Now  what  are  you  croaking  about,  Jane  ?  "  asked 
Major  Carteret,  who  came  into  the  room  and  took  the 
child  into  his  arms. 

Mammy  Jane  hobbled  to  her  feet  and  bobbed  a 
curtsy.  She  was  never  lacking  in  respect  to  white 
people  of  proper  quality;  but  Major  Carteret,  the 
quintessence  of  aristocracy,  called  out  all  her  reserves 
of  deference.  The  major  was  always  kind  and  con- 
siderate to  these  old  family  retainers,  brought  up  in 
the  feudal  atmosphere  now  so  rapidly  passing  away. 
Mammy  Jane  loved  Mrs.  Carteret ;  toward  the  major 
she  entertained  a  feeling  bordering  upon  awe. 

"  Well,  Jane,"  returned  the  major  sadly,  when  the 
old  nurse  had  related  her  grievance,  "  the  old  times 
have  vanished,  the  old  ties  have  been  ruptured.  The 
old  relations  of  dependence  and  loyal  obedience  on  the 
part  of  the  colored  people,  the  responsibility  of  pro- 
tection and  kindness  upon  that  of  the  whites,  have 
passed  away  forever.  The  young  negroes  are  too 
self-assertive.  Education  is  spoiling  them,  Jane ; 
they  have  been  badly  taught.  They  are  not  content 
with  their  station  in  life.  Some  time  they  will  over- 
step the  mark.  The  white  people  are  patient,  but 
there  is  a  limit  to  their  endurance. 

"  Dat  's  w'at  I  tells  dese  young  niggers,"  groaned 
Mammy  Jane,  with  a  portentous  shake  of  her  tur- 
baned  head,  "  w'en  I  hears  'em  gwine  on  wid  deir 
foolishniss;  but  dey  don'  min'  me.     Dey  'lows   dey 


44  THE  MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

knows  mo'  d'n  I  does,  'ca'se  dey  be'n  I'arnt  ter  look 
in  a  book.  But,  pshiih !  my  ole  mist'ess  showed  me 
mo'  d'n  dem  niggers  '11  I'arn  in  a  thousan'  years !  I 's 
fetch'  my  gran'son'  Jerry  up  ter  be  'umble,  an'  keep 
in  'is  place.  An'  I  tells  dese  other  niggers  dat  ef 
dey  'd  do  de  same,  an'  not  crowd  de  w'ite  folks,  dey  'd 
git  ernuff  ter  eat,  an'  live  out  deir  days  in  peace 
an'  comfo't.     But  dey  don'  min'  me  —  dey  don'  min' 


me  !  " 


"  If  all  the  colored  people  were  like  you  and  Jerry, 
Jane,"  rejoined  the  major  kindly,  "there  would  never 
be  any  trouble.  You  have  friends  upon  whom,  in 
time  of  need,  you  can  rely  implicitly  for  protection 
and  succor.  You  served  your  mistress  faithfully 
before  the  war  ;  you  remained  by  her  when  the  other 
negroes  were  running  hither  and  thither  like  sheep 
without  a  shepherd  ;  and  you  have  transferred  your 
allegiance  to  my  wife  and  her  child.  We  think  a 
great  deal  of  you,  Jane." 

"  Yes,  indeed.  Mammy  Jane,"  assented  Mrs. 
Carteret,  with  sincere  affection,  glancing  w^ith  moist 
eyes  from  the  child  in  her  husband's  arms  to  the  old 
nurse,  whose  dark  face  was  glowing  with  happiness 
at  these  expressions  of  appreciation,  "  you  shall  never 
want  so  long  as  we  have  anything.  We  would  share 
our  last  crust  with  you." 

"  Thank  y'.  Mis'  'Livy,"  said  Jane  with  reciprocal 
emotion,  "  I  knows  who  my  frien's  is,  an'  I  ain'  gwine 
ter  let  nothin'  worrv  me.  But  fer  de  Lawd's  sake, 
Mars  Philip,  gimme  dat  chile,  an'  lemme  pat  'im  on 
de  back,  er  he  '11  choke  hisse'f  ter  death !  " 

The  old  nurse  had  been  the  first  to  observe  that 
little  Dodie,  for  some  reason,  was  gasping  for  breath. 
Catching  the  child  from  the  major's  arms,  she  patted 


THEODORE  FELIX  45 

it  on  the  back,  and  shook  it  gently.  After  a  moment 
of  this  treatment,  the  child  ceased  to  gasp,  but  still 
breathed  heavily,  with  a  strange,  whistling  noise. 

"  Oh,  my  child  !  "  exclaimed  the  mother,  in  great 
alarm,  taking  the  baby  in  her  own  arms,  "  what  can 
be  the  matter  with  him.  Mammy  Jane  ?  " 

"  Fer  de  Lawd's  sake,  ma'am,  I  don'  know,  'less 
he  's  swallered  somethin' ;  an'  he  ain'  had  nothin'  in 
his  ban's  but  de  rattle  Mis'  Polly  give  'im." 

Mrs.  Carteret  caught  up  the  ivory  rattle,  which 
hung  suspended  by  a  ribbon  from  the  baby's  neck. 

"  He  has  swallowed  the  little  piece  off  the  end  of 
the  handle,"  she  cried,  turning  pale  with  fear,  "  and 
it  has  lodged  in  his  throat.  Telephone  Dr.  Price  to 
come  immediately,  Philip,  before  my  baby  chokes  to 
death  !     Oh,  my  baby,  my  precious  baby  !  " 

An  anxious  half  hour  passed,  during  which  the 
child  lay  quiet,  except  for  its  labored  breathing.  The 
suspense  was  relieved  by  the  arrival  of  Dr.  Price, 
who  examined  the  child  carefully. 

"  It 's  a  curious  accident,"  he  announced  at  the 
close  of  his  inspection.  "  So  far  as  I  can  discover, 
the  piece  of  ivory  has  been  drawn  into  the  trachea,  or 
windpipe,  and  has  lodged  in  the  mouth  of  the  right 
bronchus.  I  '11  try  to  get  it  out  without  an  operation, 
but  I  can't  guarantee  the  result." 

At  the  end  of  another  half  hour  Dr.  Price  an- 
nounced his  inability  to  remove  the  obstruction  with- 
out resorting  to  more  serious  measures. 

"  I  do  not  see,"  he  declared,  ''  how  an  operation  can 
be  avoided." 

"  Will  it  be  dangerous  ?  "  inquired  the  major  anx- 
iously, while  Mrs.  Carteret  shivered  at  the  thought. 

"  It  will  be  necessary  to  cut  into  his  throat  from 


46  THE   MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

the  outside.  All  sucli  operations  are  more  or  less 
dangerous,  especially  on  small  children.  If  this  were 
some  other  child,  I  might  undertake  the  operation 
unassisted ;  but  I  know  how  you  value  this  one, 
major,  and  I  should  prefer  to  share  the  responsibility 
with  a  specialist." 

"  Is  there  one  in  town  ?  "  asked  the  major. 

"  No,  bift  we  can  get  one  from  out  of  town." 

"  Send  for  the  best  one  in  the  country,"  said  the 
major,  ''  who  can  be  got  here  in  time.  Spare  no  ex- 
j^ense.  Dr.  Price.  We  value  this  child  above  any 
earthly  thing." 

"  The  best  is  the  safest,"  replied  Dr.  Price.  "  I 
will  send  for  Dr.  Burns,  of  Philadelphia,  the  best  sur- 
geon in  that  line  in  America.  If  he  can  start  at  once, 
he  can  reach  here  in  sixteen  or  eighteen  hours,  and  the 
case  can  wait  even  longer,  if  inflammation  does  not 
set  in." 

The  message  was  dispatched  forthwith.  By  rare 
good  fortune  the  eminent  specialist  was  able  to  start 
within  an  hour  or  two  after  the  receipt  of  Dr.  Price's 
telegram.  Meanwhile  the  baby  remained  restless  and 
uneasy,  the  doctor  spending  most  of  his  time  by  its 
side.  Mrs.  Carteret,  who  had  never  been  quite  strong 
since  the  child's  birth,  was  a  prey  to  the  most  agoniz- 
ing apprehensions. 

Mammy  Jane,  while  not  presuming  to  question  the 
opinion  of  Dr.  Price,  and  not  wishing  to  add  to  her 
mistress's  distress,  was  secretly  oppressed  by  fore- 
bodings which  she  was  unable  to  shake  off.  The 
child  was  born  for  bad  luck.  The  mole  under  its  ear, 
just  at  the  point  where  the  hangman's  knot  would 
strike,  had  foreshadowed  dire  misfortune.  She  had 
already  observed  several  little  things  which  had  ren- 
dered her  vaguely  anxious. 


THEODORE   FELIX  47 

For  instance,  upon  one  occasion,  on  entering  the 
room  where  the  baby  had  been  left  alone,  asleep  in  his 
crib,  she  had  met  a  strange  cat  hurrying  from  the 
nursery,  and,  upon  examining  closely  the  pillow  upon 
which  the  child  lay,  had  found  a  depression  which  had 
undoubtedly  been  due  to  the  weight  of  the  cat's  body. 
The  child  was  restless  and  uneasy,  and  Jane  had  ever 
since  believed  that  the  cat  had  been  sucking  little 
Dodie's  breath,  w^ith  w^hat  might  have  been  fatal  re- 
sults had  she  not  appeared  just  in  the  nick  of  time. 

This  untimely  accident  of  the  rattle,  a  fatality  for 
which  no  one  could  be  held  responsible,  had  confirmed 
the  unlucky  omen.  Jane's  duties  in  the  nursery  did 
not  permit  her  to  visit  her  friend  the  conjure  woman  ; 
but  she  did  find  time  to  go  out  in  the  back  yard  at 
dusk,  and  to  dig  up  the  charm  which  she  had  planted 
there.  It  had  protected  the  child  so  far ;  but  perhaps 
its  potency  had  become  exhausted.  She  picked  up 
the  bottle,  shook  it  vigorously,  and  then  laid  it  back, 
with  the  other  side  u]).  Refilling  the  hole,  she  made 
a  cross  over  the  top  with  the  thumb  of  her  left  hand, 
and  walked  three  times  around  it. 

What  this  strange  symbolism  meant,  or  whence  it 
derived  its  origin.  Aunt  Jane  did  not  know.  The 
cross  was  there,  and  the  Trinity,  though  Jane  was 
scarcely  conscious  of  these,  at  this  moment,  as  re- 
ligious emblems.  But  she  hoped,  on  general  j^rinci- 
ples,  that  this  performance  would  strengthen  the 
charm  and  restore  little  Dodie's  luck.  It  certainly 
had  its  moral  effect  upon  Jane's  own  mind,  for  she 
was  able  to  sleep  better,  and  contrived  to  impress 
Mrs,  Carteret  with  her  own  hopefulness. 


A   JOURNEY   SOUTHWARD 

As  the  south-bound  train  was  leaving  the  station  at 
Philadelphia,  a  gentleman  took  his  seat  in  the  single 
sleeping-car  attached  to  the  train,  and  proceeded  to 
make  himself  comfortable.  He  hung  up  his  hat  and 
opened  his  newspaper,  in  which  he  remained  absorbed 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  When  the  train  had  left 
the  city  behind,  he  threw  the  paper  aside,  and  looked 
around  at  the  other  occupants  of  the  car.  One  of 
these,  who  had  been  on  the  car  since  it  had  left  New 
York,  rose  from  his  seat  upon  perceiving  the  other's 
glance,  and  came  down  the  aisle. 

"  How  do  you  do.  Dr.  Burns?"  he  said,  stopping 
beside  the  seat  of  the  Philadelphia  passenger. 

The  gentleman  looked  up  at  the  speaker  with  an 
air  of  surprise,  which,  after  the  first  keen,  incisive 
glance,  gave  place  to  an  expression  of  cordial  recog- 
nition. 

*'  Why,  it 's  Miller !  "  he  exclaimed,  rising  and  giv- 
ing the  other  his  hand,  "  William  Miller —  Dr.  Mil- 
ler, of  course.  Sit  down,  Miller,  and  tell  me  all  about 
yourself,  -—  what  you  're  doing,  where  you  've  been, 
and  where  you  're  going.  I  'm  delighted  to  meet  you, 
and  to  see  you  looking  so  well  —  and  so  prosperous." 

"  I  deserve  no  credit  for  either,  sir,"  returned  the 
other,  as  he  took  the  proffered  seat,  "  for  I  inherited 
both  health  and  prosperity.  It  is  a  fortunate  chance 
that  permits  me  to  meet  you,'* 


A  JOURNEY   SOUTHWARD  49 

The  two  acquaintances,  tlius  opportunely  thrown 
together  so  that  they  might  while  away  in  conver- 
sation the  tedium  of  their  journey,  represented  very 
different  and  yet  very  similar  types  of  manhood.  A 
celebrated  traveler,  after  many  years  spent  in  barbar- 
ous or  savage  lands,  has  said  that  among  all  varieties 
of  mankind  the  similarities  are  vastly  more  important 
and  fundamental  than  the  differences.  Looking  at 
these  two  men  with  the  American  eye,  the  differences 
would  perhaps  be  the  more  striking,  or  at  least  the 
more  immediately  apparent,  for  the  first  was  white  and 
the  second  black,  or,  more  correctly  speaking,  bro^^^l ; 
it  was  even  a  light  brown,  but  both  his  swarthy  com- 
plexion and  his  curly  hair  revealed  what  has  been 
described  in  the  laws  of  some  of  our  states  as  a 
"  visible  admixture  "  of  African  blood. 

Having  disposed  of  this  difference,  and  having 
observed  that  the  white  man  was  perhaps  fifty  years 
of  age  and  the  other  not  more  than  thirty,  it  may  be 
said  that  they  were  both  tall  and  sturdy,  both  well 
dressed,  the  white  man  with  perhaps  a  little  more  dis- 
tinction ;  both  seemed  from  their  faces  and  their  man- 
ners to  be  men  of  culture  and  accustomed  to  the  so- 
ciety of  cultivated  people.  They  were  both  handsome 
men,  the  elder  representing  a  fine  type  of  Anglo- 
Saxon,  as  the  term  is  used  in  speaking  of  our  com- 
posite white  population  ;  while  the  mulatto's  erect 
form,  broad  shoulders,  clear  eyes,  fine  teeth,  and  pleas- 
ingly moulded  features  showed  nowdiere  any  sign  of 
that  degeneration  which  the  pessimist  so  sadly  main- 
tains is  the  inevitable  heritage  of  mixed  races. 

As  to  their  personal  relations,  it  has  already  ap- 
peared that  they  were  members  of  the  same  profession. 
In  past  years  they  had  been  teacher  and  pupil.     Dr. 


50  THE  MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

Alvin  Burns  was  professor  in  the  famous  medical  col- 
lege where  Miller  had  attended  lectures.  The  pro- 
fessor had  taken  an  interest  in  his  only  colored  pupil, 
to  whom  he  had  been  attracted  by  his  earnestness  of 
purpose,  his  evident  talent,  and  his  excellent  manners 
and  fine  physique.  It  was  in  part  due  to  Dr.  Burns's 
friendship  that  Miller  had  won  a  scholarship  which 
had  enabled  him,  without  drawing  too  heavily  upon 
his  father's  resources,  to  spend  in  Europe,  studying 
in  the  hospitals  of  Paris  and  Vienna,  the  two  most 
delightful  years  of  his  life.  The  same  influence  had 
strengthened  his  natural  inclination  toward  operative 
Burgery,  in  which  Dr.  Burns  was  a  distinguished  spe- 
cialist of  national  reputation. 

Miller's  father,  Adam  Miller,  had  been  a  thrifty 
colored  man,  the  son  of  a  slave,  who,  in  the  olden 
time,  had  bought  himself  with  money  which  he  had 
earned  and  saved,  over  and  above  what  he  had  paid 
his  master  for  his  time.  Adam  Miller  had  inherited 
his  father's  thrift,  as  well  as  his  trade,  which  was  that 
of  a  stevedore,  or  contractor  for  the  loading  and  un- 
loading of  vessels  at  the  port  of  Wellington.  In  the 
flush  turpentine  days  following  a  few  j^ears  after  the 
civil  war,  he  had  made  money.  His  savings,  shrewdly 
invested,  had  by  constant  accessions  become  a  compe- 
tence. He  had  brought  up  his  eldest  son  to  the  trade  ; 
the  other  he  had  given  a  professional  education,  in  the 
proud  hope  that  his  children  or  his  grandchildren 
mio-ht  be  o-entlemen  in  the  town  where  their  ancestors 
had  once  been  slaves. 

Upon  his  father's  death,  shortly  after  Dr.  Miller's 
return  from  Europe,  and  a  year  or  two  before  the  date 
at  which  this  story  opens,  he  had  joromptly  spent  part 
of  his  inheritance  in  founding  a  hospital,  to  which  was 


A  JOURNEY   SOUTHWARD  51 

to  be  added  a  training  school  for  nurses,  and  in  time 
perhaps  a  medical  college  and  a  school  of  pharmacy. 
He  had  been  strongly  tempted  to  leave  the  South, 
and  seek  a  home  for  his  family  and  a  career  for  him- 
self in  the  freer  North,  where  race  antagonism  was 
less  keen,  or  at  least  less  oppressive,  or  in  Europe, 
where  he  had  never  found  his  color  work  to  his  disad- 
vantage. But  his  people  had  needed  him,  and  he  had 
wished  to  help  them,  and  had  sought  by  means  of  this 
institution  to  contribute  to  their  uplifting.  As  he  now 
informed  Dr.  Burns,  he  was  returning  from  Xew  York, 
where  he  had  been  in  order  to  purchase  equipment 
for  his  new  hospital,  which  would  soon  be  readj^  for 
the  reception  of  patients. 

"  How  much  I  can  accomplish  I  do  not  know%"  said 
Miller,  "  but  I  '11  do  what  I  can.  There  are  ei^ht  or 
nine  million  of  us,  and  it  will  take  a  great  deal  of 
learning  of  all  kinds  to  leaven  that  lump." 

"  It  is  a  great  problem.  Miller,  the  future  of  your 
race,"  returned  the  other,  "  a  tremendously  interesting 
problem.  It  is  a  serial  story  which  w^e  are  all  read- 
ing, and  which  grows  in  vital  interest  with  each  suc- 
cessive installment.  It  is  not  only  your  problem,  but 
ours.     Your  race  must  come  up  or  drag  ours  down." 

"  We  shall  come  up,"  declared  Miller ;  "  slowly  and 
painfully,  perhaps,  but  we  shall  win  our  way.  If  our 
race  had  made  as  much  progress  everywhere  as  they 
have  made  in  Wellington,  the  problem  would  be  w^ell 
on  the  way  toward  solution." 

"  Wellino'ton? "  exclaimed  Dr.  Burns.  "That's 
where  I  'm  going.  A  Dr.  Price,  of  Wellington,  has 
sent  for  me  to  perform  an  operation  on  a  child's 
throat.     Do  you  know  Dr.  Price  ?  " 

"  Quite  well,"  replied   Miller,  "  he  is  a  friend  of 


mine." 


52  THE   MARROW   OF   TRADITION 

"  So  much  tlie  better.  I  shall  want  you  to  assist 
me.  1  read  in  the  Medical  Gazette,  the  other  day, 
an  account  of  a  very  interesting  operation  of  yours.  I 
felt  proud  to  number  you  among  my  pupils.  It  was 
a  remarkable  case  —  a  rare  case.  I  must  certainly 
have  you  with  me  in  this  one." 

''  I  shall  be  delighted,  sir,"  returned  Miller,  "  if  it 
is  agreeable  to  all  concerned." 

Several  hours  were  passed  in  pleasant  conversation 
while  the  train  sped  rapidly  southward.  They  were 
already  far  down  in  Virginia,  and  had  stopped  at  a 
station  bevond  Richmond,  when  the  conductor  entered 
the  car. 

"  All  passengers,"  he  announced, ''  will  please  trans- 
fer to  the  day  coaches  ahead.  The  sleeper  has  a  hot 
box,  and  must  be  switched  oif  here." 

Dr.  Burns  and  Miller  obeyed  the  order,  the  former 
leading  the  way  into  the  coach  immediately  in  front 
of  the  sleeping-car. 

"Let 's  sit  here.  Miller,"  he  said,  having  selected  a 
seat  near  the  rear  of  the  car  and  deposited  his  suit- 
case in  a  rack.     "  It 's  on  the  shady  side." 

Miller  stood  a  moment  hesitatingly,  but  finally  took 
the  seat  indicated,  and  a  few  minutes  later  the  journey 
was  again  resumed. 

When  the  train  conductor  made  his  round  after  leav- 
ing the  station,  he  paused  at  the  seat  occupied  by  the 
two  doctors,  glanced  interrogatively  at  Miller,  and 
then  spoke  to  Dr.  Burns,  who  sat  in  the  end  of  the 
seat  nearest  the  aisle. 

"  This  man  is  with  you  ? "  he  asked,  indicating 
Miller  with  a  slight  side  movement  of  his  head,  and  a 
keen  glance  in  his  direction. 

'^  Certainly,"  replied  Dr.  Burns  curtly,  and  with 
some  surprise.     "  Don't  you  see  that  he  is  ?  " 


A  JOURXEY  SOUTHWARD  53 

The  conductor  passed  on.  Miller  paid  no  apparent 
attention  to  this  little  interlude,  though  no  syllable 
had  escaped  him.  He  resumed  the  conversation  where 
it  had  been  broken  off,  but  nevertheless  followed  wdth 
his  eyes  the  conductor,  who  stopped  at  a  seat  near  the 
forward  end  of  the  car,  and  engaged  in  conversation 
with  a  man  whom  Miller  had  not  hitherto  noticed. 

As  this  passenger  turned  his  head  and  looked  back 
toward  Miller,  the  latter  saw  a  broad-shouldered,  burly 
white  man,  and  recognized  in  his  square-cut  jaw,  his 
coarse,  firm  mouth,  and  the  single  gray  eye  wdth  which 
he  swept  Miller  for  an  instant  with  a  scornful  glance, 
a  well-known  character  of  AVellington,  with  whom  the 
reader  has  already  made  acquaintance  in  these  pages. 
Captain  McBane  wore  a  frock  coat  and  a  slouch  hat ; 
several  buttons  of  his  vest  were  unbuttoned,  and  his 
solitaire  diamond  blazed  in  his  soiled  shirt-front  like 
the  headlight  of  a  locomotive. 

The  conductor  in  his  turn  looked  back  at  Miller, 
and  retraced  his  steps.  Miller  braced  himself  for 
what  he  feared  w^as  coming,  though  he  had  hoped,  on 
account  of  his  friend's  presence,  that  it  might  be 
avoided. 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  said  the  conductor,  addressing 
Dr.  Burns,  "  but  did  I  understand  you  to  say  that  this 
man  was  vour  servant?  " 

"  No,  indeed  !  "  replied  Dr.  Burns  indignantly. 
"  The  gentleman  is  not  my  servant,  nor  anybody's  ser- 
vant, but  is  my  friend.  But,  by  the  way,  since  we  are 
on  the  subject,  may  I  ask  what  affair  it  is  of  yours?  " 

"  It 's  very  much  my  affair,"  returned  the  conduc- 
tor, somewhat  nettled  at  this  questioning  of  his  au- 
thority. "  I  'm  sorry  to  j^art  friends^  but  the  law  of 
Virginia  does  not  permit  colored  passengers  to  ride  in 


54  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

the  white  cars.  You  '11  have  to  go  forward  to  the  next 
coach,"  he  added,  addressing  Miller  this  time. 

*'  I  have  paid  my  fare  on  the  sleeping-car,  w^here 
the  separate-car  law  does  not  apply,"  remonstrated 
Miller. 

"  I  can't  help  that.  You  can  doubtless  get  your 
money  back  from  the  sleeping-car  company.  But  this 
is  a  day  coach,  and  is  distinctly  marked  '  White,'  as 
you  must  have  seen  before  you  sat  down  here.  The 
sign  is  put  there  for  that  purpose." 

He  indicated  a  large  card  neatly  framed  and  hung 
at  the  end  of  the  car,  containing  the  legend,  "  AYhite," 
in  letters  about  a  foot  long,  painted  in  white  upon  a 
dark  background,  typical,  one  might  suppose,  of  the 
distinction  thereby  indicated. 

"  You  shall  not  stir  a  step.  Miller,"  exclaimed  Dr. 
Burns  wrathf  uUy.  "  This  is  an  outrage  upon  a  citizen 
of  a  free  country.     You  shall  stay  right  here." 

"  I  'm  sorry  to  discommode  you,"  returned  the  con- 
ductor, "but  there's  no  use  kicking.  It's  the  law  of 
Virginia,  and  I  am  bound  by  it  as  well  as  you.  I  have 
already  come  near  losing  my  place  because  of  not  en- 
forcing it,  and  I  can  take  no  more  such  chances,  since 
I  have  a  family  to  support." 

"  And  my  friend  has  his  rights  to  maintain,"  re- 
turned Dr.  Burns  with  determination.  "  There  is  a 
vital  principle  at  stake  in  the  matter." 

"  Really,  sir,"  argued  the  conductor,  w^ho  was  a  man 
of  peace  and  not  fond  of  controversy, "  there  's  no  use 
talking  —  he  absolutely  cannot  ride  in  this  car." 

"  How  can  ^^ou  prevent  it  ?  "  asked  Dr.  Burns,  laps- 
ino'  into  the  aro^umentative  sta^e. 

"  The  law  gives  me  the  right  to  remove  him  by 
force.    I  can  call  on  the  train  crew  to  assist  me,  or  on 


A  JOURNEY   SOUTHWARD  55 

the  other  passengers.  If  I  should  choose  to  put  him 
off  tlie  train  entirely,  in  the  middle  of  a  swamp,  he 
would  have  no  redress  —  the  law  so  provides.  If  I 
did  not  wish  to  use  force,  I  could  simply  switch  this 
car  off  at  the  next  siding,  transfer  the  white  passen- 
gers to  another,  and  leave  you  and  your  friend  in 
possession  until  you  were  arrested  and  fined  or  im- 
prisoned." 

"  What  he  says  is  absolutely  true,  doctor,"  inter- 
posed Miller  at  this  point.  "  It  is  the  law,  and  we 
are  powerless  to  resist  it.  If  we  made  any  trouble,  it 
would  merely  delay  your  journey  and  imperil  a  life  at 
the  other  end.     I  '11  go  into  the  other  car." 

"You  shall  not  go  alone,"  said  Dr.  Burns  stoutly, 
rising  in  his  turn.  "  A  place  that  is  too  good  for  you 
is  not  good  enough  for  me.    I  w^ill  sit  wherever  you  do." 

"  I  'm  sorry  again,"  said  the  conductor,  who  had 
quite  recovered  his  equanimity,  and  calmly  conscious 
of  his  power,  could  scarcely  restrain  an  amuged  smile ; 
"  I  dislike  to  interfere,  but  white  passengers  are  not 
permitted  to  ride  in  the  colored  car." 

"  This    is    an    outrage,"    declared    Dr.    Burns,  "  a 

d d  outrage !     You  are  curtailing  the  rights,  not 

onty  of  colored  people,  but  of  white  men  as  well.  I 
shall  sit  where  I  please !  " 

"  I  warn  you,  sir,"  rejoined  the  conductor,  harden- 
ing again,  "  that  the  law  will  be  enforced.  The  beauty 
of  the  system  lies  in  its  strict  impartiality  —  it  applies 
to  both  races  alike." 

"  And  is  equally  infamous  in  both  cases,"  declared 
Dr.  Burns.     "  I  shall  immediately  take  steps  "  — 

"  Never  mind,  doctor,"  interrupted  Miller,  sooth- 
ingly, "  it 's  only  for  a  little  while.  I  '11  reach  my 
destination  just  as  surely   in  the  other  car,  and  we 


56  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

can't  help  it,  anyway.     I  '11  see  you  again  at  Welling- 
^         ton." 

*5     jf^M^  I^r*    Burns,   finding    resistance    futile,    at    length 
«^     *    acquiesced  and  made  way  for  Miller  to  pass  him. 

*^^  The  colored  doctor  took  up  his  valise  and  crossed 
the  platform  to  the  car  ahead.  It  was  an  old  car, 
with  faded  upholstery,  from  which  the  stuffing  pro- 
jected here  and  there  through  torn  places.  Apparently 
the  floor  had  not  been  swept  for  several  days.  The 
dust  lay  thick  upon  the  window  sills,  and  the  water- 
cooler,  from  which  he  essayed  to  get  a  drink,  was  filled 
-  /  "with  stale  water  which  had  made  no  recent  acquaintance 
with  ice.  There  was  no  other  passenger  in  the  car, 
and  Miller  occupied  himself  in  making  a  rough  calcu- 
lation of  what  it  would  cost  the  Southern  railroads  to 
haul  a  whole  car  for  every  colored  passenger.  It  was 
expensive,  to  say  the  least ;  it  would  be  cheaper,  and 
quite  as  considerate  of  their  feelings,  to  make  the 
neoToes  walk. 

The  car  was  conspicuously  labeled  at  either  end 
with  large  cards,  similar  to  those  in  the  other  car, 
except  that  they  bore  the  word  "  Colored  "  in  black 
letters  upon  a  white  background.  The  author  of  this 
Y^  piece  of  legislation  had  contrived,  with  an  ingenuity 
worthy  of  a  better  cause,  that  not  merely  should  the 
passengers  be  separated  by  the  color  line,  but  that  the 
reason  for  this  division  should  be  kept  constantly  in 
mind.  Lest  a  white  man  shoidd  forget  that  he  was 
white,  —  not  a  very  likely  contingency,  —  these  cards 
would  keep  him  constantly  admonished  of  the  fact ; 
should  a  colored  person  endeavor,  for  a  moment,  to 
lose  sight  of  his  disability,  these  staring  signs  would 
remind  him  continually  that  between  him  and  the  rest 
of  mankind  not  of  his  own  color,  there  was  by  law 
a  great  gulf  fixed. 


A  JOURNEY  SOUTHWARD  57 

Having  composed  himself,  Miller  had  opened  a  news- 
paper, and  was  deep  in  an  editorial  which  set  forth  in 
glowing  language  the  inestimable  advantages  which 
would  follow  to  certain  recently  acquired  islands  by 
the  introduction  of  American  liberty,  when  the  rear 
door  of  the  car  oj^ened  to  give  entrance  to  Captain 
George  McBane,  who  took  a  seat  near  the  door  and 
lit  a  cigar.  Miller  knew  him  quite  well  by  sight  and 
by  reputation,  and  detested  him  as  heartily.  He  re- 
presented the  aggressive,  offensive  element  among  the 
white  people  of  the  New  South,  who  made  it  hard  for  a 
negro  to  maintain  his  self-respect  or  to  enjoy  even  the 
rights  conceded  to  colored  men  by  Southern  laws. 
McBane  had  undoubtedly  identified  him  to  the  conduc- 
tor in  the  other  car.  Miller  had  no  desire  to  thrust 
himself  upon  the  society  of  white  people,  which,  indeed, 
to  one  who  had  traveled  so  much  and  so  far,  was  no 
novelty  ;  but  he  very  naturally  resented  being  at  this 
late  day  —  the  law  had  been  in  operation  only  a  few 
months  —  branded  and  tagged  and  set  apart  from  the 
rest  of  mankind  upon  the  public  highways,  like  an 
unclean  thing.  Nevertheless,  he  preferred  even  this 
to  the  exclusive  society  of  Captain  George  McBane. 

"  Porter,"  he  demanded  of  the  colored  train  attache 
who  passed  through  the  car  a  moment  later,  "  is  this  a 
smoking  car  for  white  men  ?  " 

"  No,  suh,"  replied  the  porter,  ''  but  they  comes  in 
here  sometimes,  when  they  ain'  no  cullud  ladies  on  the 
kyar." 

"  Well,  I  have  paid  first-class  fare,  and  I  object  to 
that  man's  smoking  in  here.     You  tell  him  to  go  out." 

"  I  '11  tell  the  conductor,  suh,"  returned  the  porter 
in  a  low  tone.  "  I  'd  jus'  as  soon  talk  ter  the  devil  as 
ter  that  man." 


58  THE  MARROW  OF   TRADITION 

The  white  man  had  spread  himself  over  two  seats, 
and  was  smoking  vigorously,  from  time  to  time  spitting 
carelessly  in  the  aisle,  when  the  conductor  entered  the 
compartment. 

"  Captain,"  said  Miller,  "  this  car  is  plainly  marked 
'  Colored.'  I  have  paid  first-class  fare,  and  I  object 
to  riding  in  a  smoking  car." 

"  All  right,"  returned  the  conductor,  frowning  irri- 
tably.    "  I  '11  speak  to  him." 

He  walked  over  to  the  white  passenger,  with  whom 
he  was  evidently  acquainted,  since  he  adressed  him  by 
name. 

"  Captain  McBane,"  he  said,  "  it 's  against  the  law 
for  you  to  ride  in  the  nigger  car." 

"  Who  are  you  talkin'  to  ? "  returned  the  other. 
"  I  '11  ride  where  I  damn  please." 

"  Yes,  sir,  but  the  colored  passenger  objects.  I  'm 
afraid  I  '11  have  to  ask  you  to  go  into  the  smoking- 
car." 

"  The  hell  you  say  !  "  rejoined  McBane.  "  I  '11  leave 
this  car  when  I  get  good  and  ready,  and  that  won't 
be  till  I  've  finished  this  cigar.     See  ?  " 

He  was  as  good  as  his  word.  The  conductor  escaped 
from  the  car  before  Miller  had  time  for  further  expos- 
tulation. Finally  McBane,  having  thrown  the  stump 
of  his  cigar  into  the  aisle  and  added  to  the  floor  a 
finishing  touch  in  the  way  of  expectoration,  rose  and 
went  back  into  the  white  car. 

Left  alone  in  his  questionable  glory,  Miller  buried 
himself  again  in  his  newspaper,  from  which  he  did  not 
look  up  until  the  engine  stopped  at  a  tank  station  to 
take  water. 

As  the  train  came  to  a  standstill,  a  huge  negro, 
covered  thickly  with  dust,  crawled  off  one  of  the  rear 


A  JOURNEY   SOUTHWARD  69 

trucks  unobserved,  and  ran  round  the  rear  end  o£ 
the  car  to  a  watering-trough  by  a  neighboring  well. 
Moved  either  by  extreme  thirst  or  by  the  fear  that  his 
time  might  be  too  short  to  permit  him  to  draw  a  bucket 
of  water,  he  threw  himself  down  by  the  trough,  drank 
long  and  deep,  and  plunging  his  head  into  the  water, 
shook  himself  like  a  wet  dog,  and  crept  furtively  back 
to  his  dangerous  perch. 

Miller,  who  had  seen  this  man  from  the  car  window, 
had  noticed  a  very  singular  thing.  As  the  dusty  tramp 
passed  the  rear  coach,  he  cast  toward  it  a  glance  of 
intense  ferocity.  Up  to  that  moment  the  man's  face, 
which  Miller  had  recognized  under  its  grimy  coating, 
had  been  that  of  an  ordinarily  good-natured,  somewhat 
reckless,  pleasure-loving  negro,  at  present  rather  the 
worse  for  wear.  The  change  that  now  came  over 
it  suggested  a  concentrated  hatred  almost  uncanny 
in  its  murderousness.  "With  awakened  curiosity  Miller 
followed  the  direction  of  the  negro's  glance,  and  saw 
that  it  rested  upon  a  window  where  Captain  McBane 
sat  looking  out.  When  Miller  looked  back,  the  negro 
had  disappeared. 

At  the  next  station  a  Chinaman,  of  the  ordinary 
laundry  type,  boarded  the  train,  and  took  his  seat  in 
the  white  car  without  objection.  At  another  point  a 
colored  nurse  found  a  place  wdth  her  mistress. 

"  White  people,"  said  Miller  to  himself,  who  had 
seen  these  passengers  from  the  w^indow,  "  do  not  object 
to  the  negro  as  a  servant.  As  the  traditional  negro,  — 
the  servant,  —  he  is  welcomed  ;  as  an  ec[uala  he  is  re- 
pudjatecL"  ^H^ir^ 

Miller  was  something  of  a  philosopher.  He  had 
long  ago  had  the  conclusion  forced  upon  him  that  an 
educated  man  of  his  race,  in  order  to  live  comfortably 


60  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

in  the  United  States,  must  be  either  a  philosopher  or  a 
fool  ;  and  since  he  wished  to  be  happy,  and  was  not 
exactly  a  fool,  he  had  cultivated  philosophy.  By  and 
by  he  saw  a  white  man,  with  a  dog,  enter  the  rear 
coach.  Miller  wondered  whether  the  dog  would  be 
allowed  to  ride  with  his  master,  and  if  not,  what  dis- 
position would  be  made  of  him.  He  was  a  handsome 
dog,  and  Miller,  who  was  fond  of  animals,  would  not 
have  objected  to  the  company  of  a  dog,  as  a  dog.  He 
was  nevertheless  conscious  of  a  queer  sensation  when 
he  saw  the  porter  take  the  dog  by  the  collar  and  start 
in  his  own  direction,  and  felt  consciously  relieved  when 
the  canine  passenger  was  taken  on  past  him  into  the 
baggage-car  ahead.  Miller's  hand  was  hanging  over 
the  arm  of  his  seat,  and  the  dog,  an  intelligent  shep- 
herd, licked  it  as  he  passed.  Miller  was  not  entirely 
sure  that  he  would  not  have  liked  the  porter  to  leave 
the  dog  there  ;  he  was  a  friendly  dog,  and  seemed  in- 
clined to  be  sociable. 

Toward  evening  the  train  drew  up  at  a  station  where 
quite  a  party  of  farm  laborers,  fresh  from  their  daily 
toil,  swarmed  out  from  the  conspicuously  labeled 
colored  waiting-room,  and  into  the  car  with  Miller. 
They  were  a  jolly,  good-natured  crowd,  and,  free  from 
the  embarrassing  presence  of  white  people,  proceeded 
to  enjoy  themselves  after  their  own  fashion.  Here  an 
amorous  fellow  sat  with  his  arm  around  a  buxom  girl's 
waist.  A  musically  inclined  individual  —  his  talents 
did  not  go  far  beyond  inclination  —  produced  a  mouth- 
organ  and  struck  up  a  tune,  to  which  a  limber-legged 
boy  danced  in  the  aisle.  They  were  noisy,  loquacious, 
happy,  dirty,  and  malodorous.  For  a  while  Miller  was 
amused  and  pleased.  They  were  his  people,  and  he 
felt  a  certain  expansive  warmth  toward  them  in  spite 


A  JOURNEY  SOUTHWARD  61 

of  their  obvious  shortcomings.  By  and  by,  however, 
the  air  became  too  close,  and  he  went  out  upon  the 
platform.  For  the  sake  of  the  democratic  ideal,  which 
meant  so  much  to  his  race,  he  might  have  endured 
the  affliction.  He  could  easily  imagine  that  people  of 
refinement,  with  the  power  in  their  hands,  might  be 
tempted  to  strain  the  democratic  ideal  in  order  to 
avoid  such  contact;  but  personally,  and  apart  from 
the  mere  matter  of  racial  sym23athy,  these  people  were 
just  as  offensive  to  him  as  to  the  whites  in  the  other 
end  of  the  train.  Surely,  if  a  classification  of  passen- 
gers on  trains  was  at  all  desirable,  it  might  be  made 
upon  some  more  logical  and  considerate  basis  than  a 
mere  arbitrary,  tactless,  and,  by  the  very  nature  of 
things,  brutal  drawing  of  a  color  line.  It  was  a  veri- 
table bed  of  Procrustes,  this  standard  which  the  whites 
had  set  for  the  negroes.  Those  who  grew  above  it 
must  have  their  heads  cut  off,  figuratively  speaking, 
—  must  be  forced  back  to  the  level  assigned  to  their 
race ;  those  who  fell  beneath  the  standard  set  had 
their  necks  stretched,  literally  enough,  as  the  ghastly 
record  in  the  daily  papers  gave  conclusive  evidence. 

Miller  breathed  more  freely  when  the  lively  crowd 
got  off  at  the  next  station,  after  a  short  ride.  More- 
over, he  had  a  light  heart,  a  conscience  void  of 
offense,  and  was  only  thirty  years  old.  His  philoso- 
phy had  become  somewhat  jaded  on  this  journey,  but 
he  pulled  it  together  for  a  final  effort.  Was  it  not, 
after  all,  a  wise  provision  of  nature  that  had  given 
to  a  race,  destined  to  a  long  servitude  and  a  slow  emer- 
gence therefrom,  a  cheerfulness  of  spirit  which  ena- 
bled them  to  catch  pleasure  on  the  wing,  and  endure 
with  equanimity  the  ills  that  seemed  inevitable  ?  The 
ability  to  live  and  thrive  under  adverse  circumstances 


62  THE   MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

is  the  surest  guaranty  of  the  future.  The  race  which 
at  the  last  shall  inherit  the  earth  —  the  residuary 
legatee  of  civilization  —  will  be  the  race  which  re- 
mains longest  upon  it.  The  negro  was  here  before 
the  Anglo-Saxon  was  evolved,  and  his  thick  lips  and 
heavy-lidded  eyes  looked  out  from  the  inscrutable 
face  of  the  Sphinx  across  the  sands  of  Egyj^t  while 
yet  the  ancestors  of  those  who  now  oppress  him  were 
living  in  caves,  practicing  human  sacrifice,  and  paint- 
ing themselves  with  woad  —  and  the  negro  is  here 
yet. 

"  '  Blessed  are  the  meek,'  "  quoted  Miller  at  the  end 
of  these  consoling  reflections,  "  '  for  they  shall  inherit 
the  earth.'  If  this  be  true,  the  negro  may  yet  come 
into  his  estate,  for  meekness  seems  to  be  set  apart  as 
his  portion." 

The  journey  came  to  an  end  just  as  the  sun  had 
sunk  into  the  west. 

Simultaneously  with  Miller's  exit  from  the  train,  a 
great  black  figure  crawled  off  the  trucks  of  the  rear 
car,  on  the  side  opposite  the  station  platform.  Stretch- 
ing and  shaking  himself  with  a  free  gesture,  the  black 
man,  seeing  himself  unobserved,  moved  somewhat 
stiffly  round  the  end  of  the  car  to  the  station  platform. 

"  'Fo  de  Lawd  !  "  he  muttered,  "  ef  I  had  n'  had  a 
cha'm'  life,  I  'd  'a'  never  got  here  on  dat  ticket,  an' 
dat  's  a  fac'  —  it  sho'  am  !  I  kind  er  'lowed  I  wuz 
gone  a  dozen  times,  e^  it  wuz.  But  I  got  my  job  ter 
do  in  dis  worl',  au'  I  knows  I  ain'  gwine  ter  die  'tel 
I  've  'complished  it.  I  jes'  want  one  mo'  look  at  dat 
man,  an'  den  I  '11  haf  ter  git  somethin'  ter  eat ;  fer 
two  raw  turnips  in  twelve  hours  is  slim  pickiu's  fer  a 
man  er  my  size  !  " 


VI 

JANET 

As  the  train  drew  up  at  the  station  platform,  Dr. 
Price  came  forward  from  the  white  waiting-room,  and 
stood  expectantly  by  the  door  of  the  white  coach. 
Miller,  having  left  his  car,  came  down  the  platform  in 
time  to  intercept  Burns  as  he  left  the  train,  and  to  in- 
troduce him  to  Dr.  Price. 

"  My  carriage  is  in  waiting,"  said  Dr.  Price.  "  I 
should  have  liked  to  have  you  at  my  own  house,  but 
my  wife  is  out  of  town.  We  have  a  good  hotel,  how- 
ever, and  you  will  doubtless  find  it  more  convenient." 

''  You  are  very  kind.  Dr.  Price.  Miller,  won't  you 
come  up  and  dine  with  me?  " 

"  Thank  you,  no,"  said  Miller,  "  I  am  expected  at 
home.  My  wife  and  child  are  waiting  for  me  in  the 
buggy  yonder  by  the  platform." 

"  Oh,  very  well ;  of  course  you  must  go ;  but  don't 
forget  our  appointment.  Let 's  see.  Dr.  Price,  I  can 
eat  and  get  ready  in  half  an  hour  —  that  will  make 
it"  — 

"  I  have  asked  several  of  the  local  physicians  to  be 
present  at  eight  o'clock,"  said  Dr.  Price,  "  The  case 
can  safely  wait  until  then." 

"  Very  well.  Miller,  be  on  hand  at  eight.  I  shall 
expect  you  without  fail.  Where  shall  he  come.  Dr. 
Price  ?  " 

"  To  the  residence  of  Major  Philip  Carteret,  on 
Vine  Street." 


64  THE  MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

"  I  have  invited  Dr.  Miller  to  be  present  and  assist 
in  the  oj^eration,"  Dr.  Burns  continued,  as  they  drove 
toward  the  hotel.  "  He  was  a  favorite  pupil  of  mine, 
and  is  a  credit  to  the  profession.  I  presume  you  saw 
his  article  in  the  Medical  Gazette  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  I  assisted  him  in  the  case,"  returned  Dr. 
Price.  "  It  was  a  colored  lad,  one  of  his  patients,  and 
he  called  me  in  to  help  him.  He  is  a  capable  man, 
and  very  much  liked  by  the  white  physicians." 

Miller's  wife  and  child  were  waiting  for  him  in 
fluttering  anticipation.  He  kissed  them  both  as  he 
climbed  into  the  buggy. 

"  We  came  at  four  o'clock,"  said  Mrs.  Miller,  a 
handsome  young  woman,  who  might  be  anywhere 
between  twenty-five  and  thirty,  and  whose  complexion, 
in  the  twilight,  was  not  distinguishable  from  that  of  a 
white  person, "  but  the  train  was  late  two  hours,  they 
said.     We  came  back  at  six,  and  have  been  waiting 


ever  since." 


"  Yes,  papa,"  piped  the  child,  a  little  boy  of  six  or 
seven,  who  sat  between  them,  "and  I  am  very  hungry." 

Miller  felt  very  much  elated  as  he  drove  homeward 
through  the  twilight.  By  his  side  sat  the  two  persons 
whom  he  loved  best  in  all  the  world.  His  affairs 
were  prosperous.  Upon  opening  his  office  in  the  city, 
he  had  been  received  by  the  members  of  his  own  pro- 
fession with  a  cordiality  generally  frank,  and  in  no 
case  much  reserved.  The  colored  population  of  the 
city  was  large,  but  in  the  main  poor,  and  the  white 
physicians  were  not  unwilling  to  share  this  unprofit- 
able practice  with  a  colored  doctor  worthy  of  confi- 
dence. In  the  intervals  of  the  work  upon  his  hospital, 
he  had  built  up  a  considerable  practice  among  his 
own  people ;  but  except  in  the  case  of  some  poor  un- 


JANET  65 

fortunate  whose  pride  had  been  lost  in  poverty  or  sin, 
no  white  patient  had  ever  called  upon  him  for  treat- 
ment. He  knew  very  well  the  measure  of  his  powers, 
—  a  liberal  education  had  given  him  opportunity  to 
compare  himself  with  other  men,  —  and  was  secretly 
conscious  that  in  point  of  skill  and  knowledge  he  did 
not  suffer  by  comparison  with  any  other  physician  in 
the  town.  He  liked  to  believe  that  the  race  antagonism 
which  hampered  his  jirogress  and  that  of  his  people 
was  a  mere  temporary  thing,  the  outcome  of  former 
conditions,  and  bound  to  disappear  in  time,  and  that 
when  a  colored  man  should  demonstrate  to  the  com- 
munity in  which  he  lived  that  he  possessed  character 
and  power,  that  community  would  find  a  way  in  which 
to  enlist  his  services  for  the  public  good. 

He  had  already  made  himself  useful,  and  had  re- 
ceived many  kind  words  and  other  marks  of  appre- 
ciation. He  was  now  offered  a  further  confirmation 
of  his  theory :  having  recognized  his  skill,  the  white 
people  were  now  ready  to  take  advantage  of  it.  Any 
lurking  doubt  he  may  have  felt  when  first  invited  by 
Dr.  Burns  to  participate  in  the  operation,  had  been 
dispelled  by  Dr.  Price's  prompt  acquiescence. 

On  the  way  homeward  Miller  told  his  wife  of  this 
appointment.  She  was  greatly  interested  ;  she  was 
herself  a  mother,  with  an  only  child.  Moreover,  there 
was  a  stronger  impulse  than  mere  humanity  to  draw 
her  toward  the  stricken  mother.  Janet  had  a  tender 
heart,  and  could  have  loved  this  white  sister,  her  sole 
living  relative  of  whom  she  knew.  All  her  life  long 
she  had  yearned  for  a  kind  word,  a  nod,  a  smile,  the 
least  thing  that  imagination  might  have  twisted  into 
a  recognition  of  the  tie  between  them.  But  it  had 
never  come. 


66  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

And  yet  Janet  was  not  angry.  She  was  of  a  for- 
giving temper ;  she  could  never  bear  malice.  She 
was  educated,  had  read  many  books,  and  appreciated 
to  the  full  the  social  forces  arrayed  against  any  such 
recognition  as  she  had  dreamed  of.  Of  the  two 
barriers  between  them  a  man  mioht  have  for2:iven  the 
one  ;  a  woman  would  not  be  likely  to  overlook  either 
the  bar  sinister  or  the  difference  of  race,  even  to  the 
slight  extent  of  a  silent  recognition.  Blood  is  thicker 
than  water,  but,  if  it  flow  too  far  from  conventional 
channels,  may  turn  to  gall  and  wormwood.  Never- 
theless, when  the  heart  speaks,  reason  falls  into  the 
background,  and  Janet  would  have  worshiped  this 
sister,  even  afar  off,  had  she  received  even  the  slightest 
encouragement.  So  strong  was  this  weakness  that 
she  had  been  angry  with  herself  for  her  lack  of  pride, 
or  even  of  a  decent  self-respect.  It  was,  she  some- 
times thought,  the  heritage  of  her  mother's  race,  and 
she  was  ashamed  of  it  as  part  of  the  taint  of  slavery. 
She  had  never  acknowledged,  even  to  her  husband, 
from  whom  she  concealed  nothing  else,  her  secret 
thoughts  upon  this  lifelong  sorrow.  This  silent  grief 
was  nature's  penalty,  or  society's  revenge,  for  what- 
ever heritage  of  beauty  or  intellect  or  personal  charm 
had  come  to  her  with  her  father's  blood.  For  she  had 
received  no  other  inheritance.  Her  sister  was  rich  by 
right  of  her  birth ;  if  Janet  had  been  fortunate,  her 
good  fortune  had  not  been  due  to  any  provision  made 
for  her  by  her  white  father. 

She  knew  quite  well  how  passionately,  for  many 
years,  her  proud  sister  had  longed  and  prayed  in  vain 
for  the  child  which  had  at  length  brought  joy  into  her 
household,  and  she  could  feel,  by  sympathy,  all  the 
sickening  suspense  with  which  the  child's  parents  must 
await  the  result  of  this  dans'erous  operation. 


JANET  67 

"  0  Will,"  she  adjured  her  husband  anxiously,  when 
he  had  told  her  of  the  engagement,  "you  must  be  very 
careful.  Think  of  the  child's  poor  mother !  Think 
of  our  own  dear  child,  and  what  it  would  mean  to 
lose  him ! " 


VII 

THE   OPERATION 

Dr.  Price  was  not  entirely  at  ease  in  Lis  mind  as 
the  two  doctors  drove  rapidly  from  the  hotel  to  Major 
Carteret's.  Himself  a  liberal  man,  from  his  point  of 
view,  he  saw  no  reason  why  a  colored  doctor  might 
not  operate  upon  a  white  male  child,  —  there  are  fine 
distinctions  in  the  application  of  the  color  line,  —  but 
several  other  physicians  had  been  invited,  some  of 
whom  were  men  of  old-fashioned  notions,  who  might 
not  relish  such  an  innovation. 

This,  however,  was  but  a  small  difficulty  compared 
with  what  might  be  feared  from  Major  Carteret  him- 
self. For  he  knew  Carteret's  unrelenting  hostility  to 
anything  that  savored  of  recognition  of  the  negro  as 
the  equal  of  white  men.  It  was  traditional  in  Well- 
ington that  no  colored  person  had  ever  entered  the 
front  door  of  the  Carteret  residence,  and  that  the 
luckless  individual  who  once  presented  himself  there 
upon  alleged  business  and  resented  being  ordered  to 
the  back  door  had  been  unceremoniously  thrown  over 
the  piazza  railing  into  a  rather  thorny  clump  of  rose- 
bushes below.  If  Miller  were  going  as  a  servant,  to 
hold  a  basin  or  a  sponge,  there  would  be  no  difficulty  ; 
but  as  a  surgeon  —  well,  he  would  n't  borrow  trouble. 
Under  the  circumstances  the  major  might  yield  a 
point. 

But  as  they  neared  the  house  the  major's  unyield- 


THE  OPERATION  69 

ing  disposition  loomed  up  formidably.  Perhaps  if 
the  matter  were  properly  presented  to  Dr.  Burns,  he 
might  consent  to  withdraw  the  invitation.  It  was  not 
yet  too  late  to  send  Miller  a  note. 

"  By  the  way,  Dr.  Burns,"  he  said,  "  I  'm  very 
friendly  to  Dr.  Miller,  and  should  personally  like  to 
have  him  with  us  to-nioht.  But — I  ou"'ht  to  have 
told  you  this  before,  but  I  could  n't  very  well  do  so, 
on  such  short  notice,  in  Miller's  presence  —  we  are 
a  conservative  people,  and  our  local  customs  are  not 
very  flexible.  We  jog  along  in  much  the  same  old 
way  our  fathers  did.  I  'm  not  at  all  sure  that  Major 
Carteret  or  the  other  gentlemen  would  consent  to  the 
presence  of  a  negro  doctor." 

"  I  think  you  misjudge  your  own  people,"  returned 
Dr.  Burns,  "  they  are  broader  than  you  think.  We 
have  our  prejudices  against  the  negro  at  the  North, 
but  we  do  not  let  them  stand  in  the  way  of  anything 
that  we  want.  At  any  rate,  it  is  too  late  now,  and  I 
will  accept  the  responsibility.  If  the  question  is 
raised,  I  will  attend  to  it.  When  I  am  performing 
an  operation  I  must  be  aut  Cmsar^  aut  nullus.^^ 

Dr.  Price  was  not  reassured,  but  he  had  done  his 
duty  and  felt  the  reward  of  virtue.  If  there  should 
be  trouble,  he  would  not  be  responsible.  Moreover, 
there  was  a  large  fee  at  stake,  and  Dr.  Burns  was  not 
likely  to  prove  too  obdurate. 

They  were  soon  at  Carteret's,  where  they  found 
assembled  the  several  physicians  invited  by  Dr.  Price. 
These  were  successively  introduced  as  Drs.  Dudley, 
Hooper,  and  Ashe,  all  of  whom  were  gentlemen  of 
good  standing,  socially  and  in  their  profession,  and 
considered  it  a  high  privilege  to  witness  so  delicate 
an  operation  at  the  hands  of  so  eminent  a  member  of 
their  profession. 


70  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

Major  Carteret  entered  the  room  and  was  duly  pre- 
sented to  the  famous  specialist.  Carteret's  anxious 
look  lightened  somewhat  at  sight  of  the  array  of  tal- 
ent present.  It  suggested,  of  course,  the  gravity  of 
the  impending  event,  but  gave  assurance  of  all  the 
skill  and  care  which  science  could  afford. 

Dr.  Burns  was  shown  to  the  nursery,  from  which 
he  returned  in  five  minutes. 

"  The  case  is  ready,"  he  announced.  "  Are  the 
gentlemen  all  present  ?  " 

"  I  believe  so,"  answered  Dr.  Price  quickly. 

Miller  had  not  yet  arrived.  Perhaps,  thought  Dr. 
Price,  a  happy  accident,  or  some  imperative  call,  had 
detained  him.  This  would  be  fortunate  indeed.  Dr. 
Burns's  square  jaw  had  a  very  determined  look.  It 
would  be  a  pity  if  any  acrimonious  discussion  should 
arise  on  the  eve  of  a  delicate  operation.  If  the  clock 
on  the  mantel  would  only  move  faster,  the  question 
might  never  come  up. 

"  I  don't  see  Dr.  Miller,"  observed  Dr.  Burns,  look- 
ing around  the  room.  "  I  asked  him  to  come  at  eight. 
There  are  ten  minutes  yet." 

Major  Carteret  looked  up  with  a  sudden  frown. 

"  May  I  ask  to  whom  you  refer  ?  "  he  inquired,  in 
an  ominous  tone. 

The  other  gentlemen  showed  signs  of  interest,  not 
to  say  emotion.     Dr.  Price  smiled  quizzically. 

"  Dr.  Miller,  of  your  city.  He  was  one  of  my 
favorite  pupils.  He  is  also  a  graduate  of  the  Vienna 
hospitals,  and  a  surgeon  of  unusual  skill.  I  have 
asked  him  to  assist  in  the  operation." 

Every  eye  was  turned  toward  Carteretj  whose  crim- 
soned face  had  set  in  a  look  of  grim  determination. 

"  The  person  to  whom  you  refer  is  a  negro,  I  be- 
lieve ?  "  he  said. 


THE   OPERATION  71 

"  He  is  a  colored  man,  certainly,"  returned  Dr. 
Burns,  "  though  one  would  never  think  of  his  color 
after  knowing  him  well." 

"  I  do  not  know,  sir,"  returned  Carteret,  with  an 
effort  at  self-control,  "  what  the  customs  of  Philadel- 
phia or  Vienna  may  be  ;  but  in  the  South  we  do  not 
call  negro  doctors  to  attend  white  patients.  I  could 
not  permit  a  negro  to  enter  my  house  upon  such  an 
errand." 

"  I  am  here,  sir,"  replied  Dr.  Burns  with  spirit, 
"  to  perform  a  certain  operation.  Since  I  assume 
the  responsibility,  the  case  must  be  under  my  entire 
control.     Otherwise  I  cannot  operate." 

"  Gentlemen,"  interposed  Dr.  Price,  smoothly,  "  I 
beg  of  you  both  —  this  is  a  matter  for  calm  discussion, 
and  any  asperity  is  to  be  deplored.  The  life  at  stake 
here  should  not  be  imperiled  by  any  consideration  of 
minor  importance." 

"  Your  humanity  does  you  credit,  sir,"  retorted  Dr. 
Burns.  "  But  other  matters,  too,  are  important.  I 
have  invited  this  gentleman  here.  My  professional 
honor  is  involved,  and  I  merely  invoke  my  rights  to 
maintain  it.  It  is  a  matter  of  principle,  which  ought 
not  to  give  way  to  a  mere  prejudice." 

"  That  also  states  the  case  for  Major  Carteret,"  re- 
joined Dr.  Price,  suavely.  "  He  has  certain  princi- 
ples, —  call  them  prejudices,  if  you  like,  —  certain 
inflexible  rules  of  conduct  by  which  he  regulates  his 
life.  One  of  these,  which  he  shares  with  us  all  in 
some  degree,  forbids  the  recognition  of  the  negro  as 
a  social  equal." 

"  I  do  not  know  what  Miller's  social  value  may  be," 
replied  Dr.  Burns,  stoutly,  "  or  w  hether  you  gain  or 
lose  by  your  attitude  toward  him.     I  have  invited 


72  THE  MARKOW  OF  TRADITION 

Lim  here  in  a  strictly  professional  capacity,  with 
which  his  color  is  not  at  all  concerned." 

"  Dr.  Burns  does  not  quite  appreciate  Major  Car- 
teret's point  of  view,"  said  Dr.  Price.  "  This  is  not 
with  him  an  unimportant  matter,  or  a  mere  question 
of  prejudice,  or  even  of  personal  taste.  It  is  a  sacred 
principle,  lying  at  the  very  root  of  our  social  order, 
involving  the  purity  and  prestige  of  our  race.  You 
Northern  gentlemen  do  not  quite  appreciate  our  situa- 
tion ;  if  you  lived  here  a  year  or  two  you  would  act  as 
we  do.  Of  course,"  he  added,  diplomatically,  "  if 
there  were  no  alternative  —  if  Dr»  Burns  were  willing 
to  put  Dr.  Miller's  presence  on  the  ground  of  impera- 
tive necessity  "  — 

"  I  do  nothing  of  the  kind,  sir,"  retorted  Dr. 
Burns  with  some  heat.  "  I  have  not  come  all  the  way 
from  Philadelphia  to  undertake  an  operation  which  I 
cannot  perform  without  the  aid  of  some  particular 
physician.  I  merely  stand  upon  my  professional 
rights." 

Carteret  was  deeply  agitated.  The  operation  must 
not  be  deferred ;  his  child's  life  might  be  endangered 
by  delay.  If  the  negro's  presence  were  indispensable 
he  would  even  submit  to  it,  though  in  order  to  avoid 
so  painful  a  necessity,  he  would  rather  humble  him- 
self to  the  Northern  doctor.  The  latter  course  in- 
volved merely  a  personal  sacrifice  —  the  former  a 
vital  principle.  Perhaps  there  was  another  w^ay  of 
escape.  Miller's  presence  could  not  but  be  distaste- 
ful to  Mrs.  Carteret  for  other  reasons.  Miller's  wife 
was  the  living  evidence  of  a  painful  episode  in  Mrs. 
Carteret's  family,  wdiich  the  doctor's  presence  would 
inevitably  recall.  Once  before,  Mrs.  Carteret's  life 
had  been  endangered  by  encountering,  at  a  time  of 


THE  OPERATION  73 

great  nerv^ous  strain,  this  ill-born  sister  and  her  child. 
She  was  even  now  upon  the  verge  of  collapse  at  the 
prospect  of  her  child's  suffering,  and  should  be  pro- 
tected from  the  intrusion  of  any  idea  which  might 
add  to  her  distress. 

"  Dr.  Burns,"  he  said,  with  the  suave  courtesy  which 
was  part  of  his  inheritance,  "  I  beg  your  pardon  for 
my  heat,  and  throw  myself  upon  your  magnanimity, 
as  between  white  men  "  — 

"  I  am  a  gentleman,  sir,  before  I  am  a  white  man," 
interposed  Dr.  Burns,  slightly  mollified,  however,  by 
Carteret's  change  of  manner. 

"  The  terms  should  be  synonymous,"  Carteret  could 
not  refrain  from  saying.  "  As  between  white  men, 
and  gentlemen,  I  say  to  you,  frankly,  that  there  are 
vital,  personal  reasons,  apart  from  Dr.  Miller's  color, 
why  his  presence  in  this  house  would  be  distasteful. 
AVith  this  statement,  sir,  I  throw  myself  upon  your 
mercy.  My  child's  life  is  worth  more  to  me  than  any 
earthly  thing,  and  I  must  be  governed  by  your  de- 
cision." 

Dr.  Burns  was  plainly  wavering.  The  clock  moved 
with  provoking  slowness.  Miller  would  be  there  in 
five  minutes. 

"May  I  speak  with  you  privately  a  moment, 
doctor  ?  "  asked  Dr.  Price. 

They  withdrew  from  the  room  and  were  engaged  in 
conversation  for  a  few  moments.  Dr.  Burns  finally 
yielded. 

"  I  shall  nevertheless  feel  humiliated  when  I  meet 
Miller  again,"  he  said,  "  but  of  course  if  there  is  a 
personal  question  involved,  that  alters  the  situation. 
Had  it  been  merelv  a  matter  of  color,  I  should  have 
maintained  my  position.     As  things  stand,  I  wash  my 


74  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

Lands  of  the  whole  affair,  so  far  as  Miller  is  concerned, 
like  Pontius  Pilate  —  yes,  indeed^ir,  I  feel  very  much 
like  that  individual." 

"  I  '11  explain  the  matter  to  Miller,"  returned  Dr. 
Price,  amiably,  "  and  make  it  all  right  with  him. 
We  Southern  peoj^le  understand  the  negroes  better 
than  you  do,  sir.  Why  should  we  not  ?  They  have 
been  constantly  under  our  interested  observation  for 
several  hundred  years.  You  feel  this  vastly  more  than 
Miller  will.  He  knows  the  feeling  of  the  white  peo- 
ple, and  is  accustomed  to  it.  He  wishes  to  live  and 
do  business  here,  and  is  quite  too  shrewd  to  antag- 
onize his  neighbors  or  come  where  he  is  not  wanted. 
He  is  in  fact  too  much  of  a  gentleman  to  do  so." 

"  I  shall  leave  the  explanation  to  you  entirely,"  re- 
joined Dr.  Burns,  as  they  reentered  the  other  room. 

Carteret  led  the  way  to  the  nursery,  where  the  oper- 
ation was  to  take  place.  Dr.  Price  lingered  for  a 
moment.  Miller  was  not  likely  to  be  behind  the 
hour,  if  he  came  at  all,  and  it  would  be  well  to  head 
him  off  before  the  operation  began. 

Scarcely  had  the  rest  left  the  room  when  the  door- 
bell sounded,  and  a  servant  announced  Dr.  Miller. 

Dr.  Price  stepped  into  the  hall  and  met  Miller  face 
to  face. 

He  had  meant  to  state  the  situation  to  Miller  frankly, 
but  now  that  the  moment  had  come  he  wavered.  He 
was  a  fine  physician,  but  he  shrank  from  strenuous 
responsibilities.  It  had  been  easy  to  theorize  about 
the  negro ;  it  was  more  difficult  to  look  this  man  in 
the  eyes  —  whom  at  this  moment  he  felt  to  be  as 
essentially  a  gentleman  as  himself  —  and  tell  him  the 
humiliating  truth. 

As  a  physician  his  method  was  to  ease  pain  —  he 


THE   OPERATION  75 

would  rather  take  the  risk  of  losing  a  patient  from  the 
use  of  an  anaesthetic  than  from  the  shock  of  an  opera- 
tion. He  liked  Miller,  wished  him  well,  and  would  not 
wittingly  wound  his  feelings.  He  really  thought  him 
too  much  of  a  gentleman  for  the  town,  in  view  of  the 
restrictions  with  which  he  must  inevitably  be  hampered. 
There  was  something  melancholy,  to  a  cultivated  mind, 
about  a  sensitive,  educated  man  who  happened  to  be 
off  color.  Such  a  person  was  a  sort  of  social  misfit,  an 
odd  quantity,  educated  out  of  his  own  class,  with  no 
possible  hope  of  entrance  into  that  above  it.  He  felt 
quite  sure  that  if  he  had  been  in  Miller's  place,  he 
would  never  have  settled  in  the  South  —  he  would  have 
moved  to  Europe,  or  to  the  West  Indies,  or  some 
Central  or  South  American  state  where  questions  of 
color  were  not  regarded  as  vitally  important. 

Dr.  Price  did  not  like  to  lie,  even  to  a  negro.  To  a 
man  of  his  own  caste,  his  word  was  his  bond.  If  it 
were  painful  to  lie,  it  would  be  humiliating  to  be 
found  out.  The  principle  of  iiohlesse  oblige  was  also 
involved  in  the  matter.  His  claim  of  superiority  to 
the  colored  doctor  rested  fundamentally  upon  the  fact 
that  he  was  white  and  Miller  was  not ;  and  yet  this 
superiority,  for  which  he  could  claim  no  credit,  since 
he  had  not  made  himself,  was  the  very  breath  of  his 
nostrils,  —  he  would  not  have  changed  places  with 
the  other  for  wealth  untold  ;  and  as  a  gentleman,  he 
would  not  care  to  have  another  gentleman,  even  a 
colored  man,  catch  him  in  a  lie.  Of  this,  however, 
there  was  scarcely  any  danger.  A  word  to  the  other 
surgeons  would  insure  their  corroboration  of  whatever 
he  might  tell  Miller.  No  one  of  them  would  willingly 
wound  Dr.  Miller  or  embarrass  Dr.  Price ;  indeed, 
they  need  not  know  that  Miller  had  come  in  time  for 
the  operation. 


76  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

"  I  'm  sorry,  Miller,"  he  said  with  apparent  regret, 
"  but  we  were  here  ahead  of  time,  and  the  case  took  a 
turn  which  would  admit  of  no  delay,  so  the  gentlemen 
went  in.  Dr.  Burns  is  with  the  patient  now,  and 
asked  me  to  explain  why  we  did  not  wait  for  you." 

"  I  'm  sorry  too,"  returned  Miller,  regretfully,  but 
notliing  doubting.  He  was  well  aware  that  in  such 
cases  danger  might  attend  upon  delay.  He  had  lost 
his  chance,  through  no  fault  of  his  own  or  of  any  one 
else. 

"  I  hope  that  all  is  well  ?  "  he  said,  hesitatingly,  not 
sure  whether  he  would  be  asked  to  remain. 

"  All  is  well,  so  far.  Step  round  to  my  office  in  the 
morning.  Miller,  or  come  in  when  you  're  passing,  and 
I  '11  tell  you  the  details." 

This  was  tantamount  to  a  dismissal,  so  Miller  took 
his  leave.  Descending  the  doorsteps,  he  stood  for  a 
moment,  undecided  whetlier  to  return  home  or  to  go 
to  the  hotel  and  await  the  return  of  Dr.  Burns,  when 
he  heard  his  name  called  from  the  house  in  a  low 
tone. 

"  Oh,  doctuh  !  " 

He  stepped  back  toward  the  door,  outside  of  which 
stood  the  colored  servant  who  had  just  let  him  out. 

"  Dat  's  all  a  lie,  doctuh,"  he  whispered,  "  'bout  de 
operation  bein'  alread}^  pe'fo'med.  Dey-all  had  jes' 
gone  in  de  minute  befo'  you  come  —  Doctuh  Price 
had  n'  even  got  out  'n  de  room.  Dey  be'n  quoUin' 
'bout  you  fer  de  las'  ha'f  hour.  INIajah  Ca'te'et  say 
he  would  n'  have  you,  an'  de  Xo'then  doctuh  say  he 
would  n't  do  nothin'  widout  vou,  an'  Doctuh  Price  he 
j'ined  in  on  bofe  sides,  an'  dey  had  it  hot  an'  heavy, 
nip  an'  tuck,  till  bimeby  Majah  Ca'te'et  up  an'  say  it 
wa'n't  altogether  yo'  color  he  objected  to,  an'  wid  dat 


THE  OPERATION  77 

de  No'then  doctuh  give  in.  He  's  a  fine  man,  suh,  but 
dey  wuz  too  much  fer  'im  1  " 

"  Thank  you,  Sam,  I  'm  much  obliged,"  returned 
Miller  mechanically.    "  One  likes  to  know  the  truth." 

Truth,  it  has  been  said,  is  mighty,  and  must  prevail ; 
but  it  sometimes  leaves  a  bad  taste  in  the  mouth.  In 
the  ordinary  course  of  events  Miller  would  not  have 
anticipated  such  an  invitation,  and  for  that  reason  had 
appreciated  it  all  the  more.  The  rebuff  came  with  a 
corresponding  shock.  He  had  the  heart  of  a  man,  the 
sensibilities  of  a  cultivated  gentleman  ;  the  one  was 
sore,  the  other  deeply  wounded.  He  was  not  altogether 
sure,  upon  reflection,  whether  he  blamed  Dr.  Price 
very  much  for  the  amiable  lie,  which  had  been  meant 
to  spare  his  feelings,  or  thanked  Sam  a  great  deal  for 
the  unpalatable  truth. 

Janet  met  him  at  the  door.  "  How  is  the  baby  ?  " 
she  asked  excitedly. 

"  Dr.  Price  says  he  is  doing  well." 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Will,  and  why  are  you  back 
so  soon  ?  " 

He  would  have  spared  her  the  story,  but  she  was  a 
woman,  and  would  have  it.  He  was  wounded,  too,  and 
wanted  sympathy,  of  which  Janet  was  an  exhaustless 
fountain.  So  he  told  her  what  had  happened.  She 
comforted  him  after  the  manner  of  a  loving  woman, 
and  felt  righteously  indignant  toward  her  sister's  hus- 
band, who  had  thus  been  instrumental  in  the  humilia- 
tion of  her  own.  Her  anger  did  not  embrace  her  sister, 
and  yet  she  felt  obscurely  that  their  unacknowledged 
relationship  had  been  the  malignant  force  which  had 
given  her  husband  pain,  and  defeated  his  honorable 
ambition. 


78  THE   MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

When  Dr.  Price  entered  the  nursery,  Dr.  Burns  was 
leaning  attentively  over  the  operating  table.  The 
implements  needed  for  the  operation  were  all  in  readi- 
ness —  the  knives,  the  basin,  the  sponge,  the  materials 
for  dressing  the  wound  —  all  the  ghastly  parapherna- 
lia of  vivisection. 

Mrs.  Carteret  had  been  banished  to  another  room, 
where  Clara  vainly  attempted  to  soothe  her.  Old 
Mammy  Jane,  still  burdened  by  her  fears,  fervently 
prayed  the  good  Lord  to  spare  the  life  of  the  sweet 
little  grandson  of  her  dear  old  mistress. 

Dr.  Burns  had  placed  his  ear  to  the  child's  chest, 
which  had  been  bared  for  the  incision.  Dr.  Price 
stood  ready  to  administer  the  anaesthetic.  Little 
Dodie  looked  up  with  a  faint  expression  of  wonder,  as 
if  dimly  conscious  of  some  unusual  event.  The  major 
shivered  at  the  thought  of  what  the  child  must 
undergo. 

"  There 's  a  change  in  his  breathing,"  said  Dr. 
Burns,  lifting  his  head.  "  The  whistling  noise  is  less 
pronounced,  and  he  breathes  easier.  The  obstruction 
seems  to  have  shifted." 

Applying  his  ear  again  to  the  child's  throat,  he 
listened  for  a  moment  intently,  and  then  picking  the 
baby  up  from  the  table,  gave  it  a  couple  of  sharp 
claps  between  the  shoulders.  Simultaneously  a  small 
object  shot  out  from  the  child's  mouth,  struck  Dr. 
Price  in  the  neighborhood  of  his  waistband,  and  then 
rattled  lightly  against  the  floor.  Whereupon  the 
baby,  as  though  conscious  of  his  narrow  escape,  smiled 
and  gurgled,  and  reaching  upward  clutched  the  doctor's 
whiskers  with  his  little  hand,  which,  according  to  old 
Jane,  had  a  stronger  grip  than  any  other  infant's  in 
Wellington. 


vni 

THE   CAMPAIGN   DRAGS 

The  campaign  for  white  supremacy  was  dragging. 
Carteret  had  set  out,  in  the  cokimns  of  the  Morning 
Chronicle,  all  the  reasons  why  this  movement,  in- 
augurated by  the  three  men  who  had  met,  six  months 
before,  at  the  office  of  the  Chronicle,  should  be  sup- 
ported by  the  white  public.  Negro  citizenship  was  a 
grotesque  farce  —  Sambo  and  Dinah  raised  from  the 
kitchen  to  the  cabinet  were  a  spectacle  to  make  the 
gods  laugh.  The  laws  by  which  it  had  been  sought 
to  put  the  negroes  on  a  level  with  the  whites  must 
be  swept  away  in  theory,  as  they  had  failed  in  fact. 
If  it  were  impossible,  without  a  further  education  of 
public  opinion,  to  secure  the  repeal  of  the  fifteenth 
amendment,  it  was  at  least  the  solemn  duty  of  the 
state  to  endeavor,  through  its  own  constitution,  to 
escape  from  the  domination  of  a  weak  and  incompetent 
electorate  and  confine  the  negro  to  that  inferior  con- 
dition for  which  nature  had  evidently  designed  him. 

In  spite  of  the  force  and  intelligence  with  which 
Carteret  had  expressed  these  and  similar  views,  they 
had  not  met  the  immediate  res23onse  anticipated. 
There  were  thoughtful  men,  willing  to  let  well  enough 
alone,  who  saw  no  necessity  for  such  a  movement. 
They  believed  that  peace,  prosperity,  and  popular 
education  offered  a  surer  remedy  for  social  ills  than 
the  reopening  of  issues  supposed  to  have  been  settled. 


80  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

There  were  timid  men  who  shrank  from  civic  strife. 
There  were  busy  men,  who  had  something  else  to 
do.  There  were  a  few  fair  men,  prepared  to  admit, 
privately,  that  a  class  constituting  half  to  two  thirds 
of  the  population  were  fairly  entitled  to  some  represen- 
tation in  the  law-making  bodies.  Perhaps  there  might 
have  been  found,  somewhere  in  the  state,  a  single 
white  man  ready  to  concede  that  all  men  were  entitled 
to  equal  rights  before  the  law. 

That  there  were  some  white  men  who  had  learned 
little  and  forgotten  nothing  goes  without  saying,  for 
knowledge  and  wisdom  are  not  impartially  distributed 
among  even  the  most  favored  race.  There  were 
ignorant  and  vicious  negroes,  and  they  had  a  mono- 
poly of  neither  ignorance  nor  crime,  for  there  were 
prosperous  negroes  and  poverty-stricken  whites.  Un- 
til Carteret  and  his  committee  began  their  baleful 
campaign  the  people  of  the  state  were  living  in  peace 
and  harmony.  The  anti-negro  legislation  in  more 
southern  states,  with  large  negro  majorities,  had  awak- 
ened scarcely  an  echo  in  this  state,  with  a  population 
two  thirds  white.  Even  the  triumph  of  the  Fusion 
party  had  not  been  regarded  as  a  race  issue.  It  re- 
mained for  Carteret  and  his  friends  to  discover,  with 
inspiration  from  whatever  supernatural  source  the  dis- 
criminating reader  may  elect,  that  the  darker  race, 
docile  by  instinct,  humble  by  training,  patiently  wait- 
ing upon  its  as  yet  uncertain  destiny,  was  an  incubus, 
a  corpse  chained  to  the  body  politic,  and  that  the 
negro  vote  was  a  source  of  danger  to  the  state,  no 
matter  how  cast  or  by  whom  directed. 

To  discuss  means  for  counteracting  this  apathy,  a 
meeting  of  the  "  Big  Three,"  as  they  had  begun  to 
designate  themselves  jocularly,  was  held  at  the  office 


THE  CAMPAIGN  DRAGS  81 

o£  the  "  Morning  Chronicle,"  on  the  next  day  but  one 
after  little  Dodie's  fortunate  escape  from  the  knife. 

"  It  seems,"  said  General  Belmont,  opening  the  dis- 
cussion, "  as  though  we  had  undertaken  more  than  we 
can  carry  through.  It  is  clear  that  we  must  reckon 
on  opposition,  both  at  home  and  abroad.  If  we  are 
to  hope  for  success,  we  must  extend  the  lines  of  our 
campaign.  The  North,  as  well  as  our  own  people, 
must  be  convinced  that  we  have  right  upon  our  side. 
We  are  conscious  of  the  purity  of  our  motives,  but  we 
should  avoid  even  the  appearance  of  evil." 

McBane  was  tapping  the  floor  impatiently  with  his 
foot  during:  this  harano^ue. 

*'  I  don't  see  the  use,"  he  interrupted,  "  of  so  much 
beating  about  the  bush.  We  may  as  well  be  honest 
about  this  thing.  We  are  going  to  put  the  niggers 
down  because  we  want  to,  and  think  we  can  ;  so  why 
waste  our  time  in  mere  pretense  ?  I  'm  no  hypocrite 
myself,  —  if  I  want  a  thing  I  take  it,  provided  I  'm 
stronof  enouo'h." 

"  My  dear  captain,"  resumed  the  general,  with 
biting  suavity,  "your  frankness  does  you  credit, — 
'  an  honest  man  's  the  noblest  work  of  God,'  —  but  we 
cannot  carry  on  politics  in  these  degenerate  times 
without  a  certain  amount  of  diplomacy.  In  the  good 
old  days  w^hen  your  father  was  alive,  and  perhaps 
nowadays  in  the  discipline  of  convicts,  direct  and 
simple  methods  might  be  safely  resorted  to  ;  but  this 
is  a  modern  age,  and  in  dealing  with  so  fundamental 
a  right  as  the  suffrage  we  must  profess  a  decent  re- 
gard for  the  ojiinions  of  even  that  misguided  por- 
tion of  mankind  which  may  not  agree  with  us.  This 
is  the  age  of  crowds,  and  we  must  have  the  crowd 
with  us." 


82  THE  MARROW   OF  ^CRADITIOIT 

The  captain  flushed  at  the  allusion  to  his  father's 
calling,  at  which  he  took  more  offense  than  at  the 
mention  of  his  own.  He  knew  perfectly  w^ell  that 
these  old  aristocrats,  while  reaping  the  profits  of 
slavery,  had  despised  the  instruments  by  which  they 
were  attained  —  the  poor- white  overseer  only  less 
than  the  black  slave.  McBane  was  rich  ;  he  lived  in 
Wellington,  but  he  had  never  been  invited  to  the 
home  of  either  General  Belmont  or  Major  Carteret, 
nor  asked  to  join  the  club  of  which  they  were  mem- 
bers. His  face,  therefore,  wore  a  distinct  scowl,  and 
his  single  eye  glowed  ominously.  He  would  help 
these  fellows  carry  the  state  for  white  supremacy, 
and  then  he  would  have  his  innings,  —  he  would  have 
more  to  say  than  they  dreamed,  as  to  who  should  fill 
the  offices  under  the  new  deal.  Men  of  no  better 
birth  or  breeding  than  he  had  represented  Southern 
states  in  Congress  since  the  war.  Why  should  he 
not  run  for  governor,  representative,  whatever  he 
chose  ?  He  had  money  enough  to  buy  out  half  a 
dozen  of  these  broken-down  aristocrats,  and  money 
was  all-powerful. 

"  You  see,  captain,"  the  general  went  on,  looking 
McBane  smilingly  and  unflinchingly  in  the  eye,  "  we 
need  white  immigration  —  we  need  Northern  capital. 
'A  good  name  is  better  than  great  riches,'  and  we 
must  prove  our  cause  a  righteous  one." 

"  We  must  be  armed  at  all  points,"  added  Carteret, 
"  and  prepared  for  defense  as  well  as  for  attack,  —  we 
must  make  our  campaign  a  national  one." 

"  For  instance,"  resumed  the  general,  "  you,  Car- 
teret, represent  the  Associated  Press.  Through  your 
hands  passes  all  the  news  of  the  state.  What  more 
powerful  medium   for  the  propagation   of  an   idea? 


THE   CAMPAIGN   DRAGS  83 

The  man  who  would  govern  a  nation  by  writing  its 
songs  was  a  blethering  idiot  beside  the  fellow  who 
can  edit  its  news  dispatches.  The  negroes  are  play- 
ing into  our  hands,  —  every  crime  that  one  of  them 
commits  is  reported  by  us.  With  the  latitude  they 
have  had  in  this  state  they  are  growing  more  im- 
pudent and  self-assertive  every  day.  A  yellow  dema- 
gogue in  New  York  made  a  speech  only  a  few  days 
ago,  in  which  he  deliberately,  and  in  cold  blood,  ad- 
vised negroes  to  defend  themselves  to  the  death  when 
attacked  by  white  people !  I  remember  well  the  time 
when  it  was  death  for  a  negro  to  strike  a  white  man." 

"  It 's  death  now,  if  he  strikes  the  right  one,"  inter- 
jected McBane,  restored  to  better  humor  by  this  men- 
tion of  a  congenial  subject. 

The  general  smiled  a  fine  smile.  He  had  heard  the 
story  of  how  McBane  had  lost  his  other  eye. 

"  The  local  negro  paper  is  quite  outspoken,  too," 
continued  the  general,  "if  not  impudent.  We  must 
keep  track  of  that ;  it  may  furnish  us  some  good  cam- 
paign material." 

"  Yes,"  returned  Carteret,  "  we  must  see  to  that. 
I  threw  a  copy  into  the  waste-basket  this  morning, 
without  looking  at  it.     Here  it  is  now !  " 


IX 

A  WHITE  -man's   "nigger" 

Carteret  fished  from  tlie  depths  of  the  waste- 
basket  and  handed  to  the  general  an  eighteen  by 
twenty-four  sheet,  poorly  printed  on  cheap  paper,  with 
a  "  patent  "  inside,  a  number  of  advertisements  of  pro- 
prietary medicines,  quack  doctors,  and  fortune-tellers, 
and  two  or  three  columns  of  editorial  and  local  news. 
Candor  compels  the  admission  that  it  was  not  an  im- 
pressive sheet  in  any  respect,  except  when  regarded 
as  the  first  local  effort  of  a  struggling  people  to  make 
public  expression  of  their  life  and  aspirations.  From 
this  point  of  view  it  did  not  speak  at  all  badly  for 
a  class  to  whom,  a  generation  before,  newspapers, 
books,  and  learning  had  been  forbidden  fruit. 

"  It 's  an  elegant  specimen  of  journalism,  is  n't  it  ?  " 
laughed  the  general,  airily.    "  Listen  to  this  '  ad  ' :  — 

"  '  Kinky,  curly  hair  made  straight  by  one  applica- 
tion of  our  specific.  Our  face  bleach  will  turn  the 
skin  of  a  black  or  brown  person  four  or  five  shades 
lighter,  and  of  a  mulatto  j^erfectly  white.  When  you 
get  the  color  you  wish,  stop  using  the  preparation.' 

"  Just  look  at  those  heads  !  —  '  Before  usino^ '  and 
'After  using.'  We  'd  better  hurry,  or  there  '11  be  no 
negroes  to  disfranchise !  If  they  don't  stop  till  they 
get  the  color  they  desire,  and  the  stuff  works  accord- 
ing to  contract,  they  '11  all  be  white.  Ah  !  what  have 
we  here  ?     This  looks  as  though  it  might  be  serious." 


A  WHITE  MAN'S  "NIGGER"  85 

Opening  the  sheet  the  general  read  aloud  an  edi- 
torial article,  to  which  Carteret  listened  intently,  his 
indiofnation  increasing^  in  streno^th  from  the  first  word 
to  the  last,  while  McBane's  face  grew  darkly  j^urple 
with  anger. 

The  article  was  a  frank  and  somewhat  bold  discus- 
sion of  lynching  and  its  causes.  It  denied  that  most 
lynchings  were  for  the  offense  most  generally  charged 
as  their  justification,  and  declared  that,  even  of  those 
seemingly  traced  to  this  cause,  many  were  not  for 
crimes  at  all,  hut  for  voluntary  acts  which  might 
naturally  be  expected  to  follow  from  the  miscegena- 
tion laws  by  which  it  was  sought,  in  all  the  Southern 
States,  to  destroy  liberty  of  contract,  and,  for  the 
purpose  of  maintaining  a  fanciful  purity  of  race,  to 
make  crimes  of  marriages  to  which  neither  nature  nor 
religion  nor  the  laws  of  other  states  interposed  any 
insurmountable  barrier.  Such  an  article  in  a  North- 
ern newspaper  would  have  attracted  no  special  atten- 
tion, and  might  merely  have  furnished  food  to  an  oc- 
casional reader  for  serious  thought  upon  a  subject  not 
exactly  agreeable ;  but  coming  from  a  colored  man, 
in  a  Southern  city,  it  was  an  indictment  of  the  laws 
and  social  system  of  the  South  that  could  not  fail  of 
creating  a  profound  sensation. 

"  Infamous  —  infamous  !  "  exclaimed  Carteret,  his 
voice  trembling  with  emotion.  "  The  paper  should 
be  suppressed  immediately." 

"  The  impudent  nigger  ought  to  be  horsewhipped 
and  run  out  of  town,"  growled  McBane. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  general  soothingly,  after  the 
first  burst  of  indignation  had  subsided,  "  I  believe  we 
can  find  a  more  effective  use  for  this  article,  which, 
by  the  way,  will  not  bear  too  close  analysis,  —  there 's 
Bome  truth  in  it,  at  least  there  's  an  argument." 


86  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

"  That  is  not  the  point,"  interrupted  Carteret. 

"  No,"  interjected  McBane  with  an  oath,  "  that 
ain't  at  all  the  point.  Truth  or  not,  no  damn  nigger 
has  any  right  to  say  it." 

"  This  article,"  said  Carteret,  "  violates  an  un- 
written law  of  the  South.  If  we  are  to  tolerate  this 
race  of  weaklings  among  us,  until  they  are  eliminated 
by  the  stress  of  competition,  it  must  be  upon  terms 
which  we  lay  down.  One  of  our  conditions  is  violated 
by  this  article,  in  which  our  wisdom  is  assailed,  and 
our  women  made  the  subject  of  offensive  comments 
We  must  make  known  our  disapproval." 

"  I  say  lynch  the  nigger,  break  up  the  press,  and 
burn  down  the  newspaper  office,"  McBane  responded 
promptly. 

"  Gentlemen,"  interposed  the  general,  "  would  you 
mind  suspending  the  discussion  for  a  moment,  while  I 
send  Jerry  across  the  street  ?  I  think  I  can  then 
suggest  a  better  plan." 

Carteret  rang  the  bell  for  Jerry,  who  answerec^ 
promptly.  He  had  been  expecting  such  a  call  ever 
since  the  gentlemen  had  gone  in. 

"Jerry,"  said  the  general,  "  step  across  to  Brown's 
and  tell  him  to  send  me  three  Calhoun  cocktails. 
AYait  for  them,  —  here's  the  money." 

"Yas,  suh,"  replied  Jerry,  taking  the  proffered 
coin. 

"  And  make  has'e,  charcoal,"  added  McBane,  "  for 
we  're  gettin'  damn  dry." 

A  momentary  cloud  of  annoyance  darkened  Car- 
teret's brow.  McBane  had  always  grated  upon  his 
aristocratic  susceptibilities.  The  captain  was  an  up- 
start, a  product  of  the  democratic  idea  operating  upon 
the  poor  white  man,  the  descendant  of  the  indentured 


A  WHITE   MAX'S   "NIGGER"  87 

bondservant  and  the  socially  unfit.  He  had  wealth 
and  energy,  however,  and  it  was  necessary  to  make 
use  of  him  ;  but  the  exam2:)le  of  such  men  was  a  strong 
incentive  to  Carteret  in  his  campaign  against  the 
negfro.  It  was  distasteful  enouo:h  to  rub  elbows  with 
an  illiterate  and  vulgar  white  man  of  no  ancestry,  — 
the  risk  of  similar  contact  with  negroes  was  to  be 
avoided  at  any  cost.  He  could  hardly  expect  McBane 
to  be  a  gentleman,  but  when  among  men  of  that  class 
he  might  at  least  try  to  imitate  their  manners.  A 
gentleman  did  not  order  his  own  servants  around 
offensively,  to  say  nothing  of  another's. 

The  general  had  observed  Carteret's  annoyance, 
and  remarked  pleasantly  while  they  waited  for  the 
servant's  return  :  — 

"  Jerry,  now,  is  a  very  good  negro.  He  's  not  one 
of  your  new  negroes,  who  think  themselves  as  good  as 
white  men,  and  want  to  run  the  government.  Jerry 
knows  his  place,  —  he  is  respectful,  humble,  obedient, 
and  content  with  the  face  and  place  assigned  to  him 
by  nature." 

"  Yes,  he  's  one  of  the  best  of  'em,"  sneered  Mc- 
Bane. "  He  '11  call  any  man  '  master  '  for  a  quarter, 
or  '  God '  for  half  a  dollar ;  for  a  dollar  he  '11  grovel 
at  your  feet,  and  for  a  cast-off  coat  you  can  buy  an 
option  on  his  immortal  soul,  —  if  he  has  one  !  I  've 
handled  niggers  for  ten  years,  and  I  know  'em  from 
the  ground  up.  They  're  all  alike,  —  they  're  a  scrub 
race,  an  affliction  to  the  country,  and  the  quicker 
we  're  rid  of  'em  all  the  better." 

Carteret  had  nothing  to  say  by  way  of  dissent.  Mc- 
Bane's  sentiments,  in  their  last  analysis,  were  much 
the  same  as  his,  though  he  would  have  expressed  them 
less  brutally. 


88  THE  MAEROW  OF  TRADITION    . 

"  The  negro,"  observed  the  general,  daintily  flicking 
the  ash  from  his  cigar,  "  is  all  right  in  his  place  and 
very  useful  to  the  community.  We  lived  on  his  labor 
for  quite  a  long  time,  and  lived  very  well.  Neverthe- 
less we  are  better  off  without  slavery,  for  we  can  get 
more  out  of  the  free  negro,  and  with  less  responsi- 
bility. I  really  do  not  see  how  we  could  get  along 
without  the  negroes.  If  they  were  all  like  Jerry, 
we  'd  have  no  trouble  with  them." 

Having  procured  the  drinks,  Jerry,  the  momentary 
subject  of  the  race  discussion  which  goes  on  eternally 
in  the  South,  was  making  his  way  back  across  the 
street,  somewhat  disturbed  in  mind. 

"  O  Lawd  !  "  he  groaned,  "  I  never  troubles  trouble 
till  trouble  troubles  me  ;  but  w'en  I  got  dem  drinks 
befo',  Gin'l  Belmont  gimme  half  a  dollar  an'  tol'  me 
ter  keep  de  change.  Dis  time  he  did  n'  say  nothin' 
'bout  de  change.  I  s'pose  he  jes'  fergot  erbout  it, 
but  w'at  is  a  po'  nigger  gwine  ter  do  w'en  he  has  ter 
conten'  wid  w'ite  folks's  fergitf ulniss  ?  I  don'  see  no 
way  but  ter  do  some  fergittin'  myse'f.  I  '11  jes'  stan' 
outside  de  do'  here  till  dey  gits  so  wrop'  wp  in  deir 
talk  dat  dey  won'  'member  nothin'  e'se,  an'  den  at  de 
right  minute  I  '11  han'  de  glasses  'roun,  an'  mos' 
lackly  de  gin'l  '11  fergit  all  'bout  de  change." 

While  Jerry  stood  outside,  the  conversation  within 
was  plainly  audible,  and  some  inkling  of  its  purport 
filtered  through  his  mind. 

'^  Now,  gentlemen,"  the  general  was  saying,  "  here's 
my  plan.  That  editorial  in  the  negro  newspaper  is 
good  campaign  matter,  but  we  should  reserve  it 
until  it  will  be  most  effective.  Suppose  we  just  stick 
it  in  a  pigeon-hole,  and  let  the  editor,  —  what's  his 
name  ?  " 


A  WHITE  MAN'S  "NIGGER"  89 

"The  nigger's  name  is  Barber,"  replied  McBane. 
"  I  'd  like  to  have  him  under  me  for  a  month  or  two ; 
he  'd  write  no  more  editorials." 

"  Let  Barber  have  all  the  rope  he  wants,"  resumed 
the  general,  "  and  he  '11  be  sure  to  hang  himself.  In 
the  mean  time  we  will  continue  to  work  up  public 
opinion,  —  we  can  use  this  letter  privately  for  that 
purpose,  —  and  when  the  state  campaign  opens  we  '11 
print  the  editorial,  with  suitable  comment,  scatter  it 
broadcast  throughout  the  state,  fire  the  Southern 
heart,  organize  the  white  people  on  the  color  line, 
have  a  little  demonstration  with  red  shirts  and  shot- 
guns, scare  the  negroes  into  fits,  win  the  state  for 
white  supremacy,  and  teach  our  colored  fellow  citizens 
that  we  are  tired  of  negro  domination  and  have  put 
an  end  to  it  forever.  The  Afro-American  Banner 
will  doubtless  die  about  the  same  time." 

"  And  so  will  the  editor ! "  exclaimed  McBane 
ferociously  ;  "  I  '11  see  to  that.  But  1  wonder  where 
that  nigger  is  with  them  cocktails  ?  I  'm  so  thirsty  I 
could  swallow  blue  blazes." 

"  Here  's  yo'  drinks,  gin'l,"  announced  Jerry,  enter- 
ing with  the  glasses  on  a  tray. 

The  gentlemen  exchanged  compliments  and  imbibed 
—  McBane  at  a  gulp,  Carteret  with  more  deliberation, 
leaving  about  half  the  contents  of  his  glass. 

The  general  drank  slowly,  with  every  sign  of  appre- 
ciation. "  If  the  illustrious  statesman,"  he  observed, 
"  whose  name  this  mixture  bears,  had  done  nothing: 
more  than  invent  it,  his  fame  would  still  deserve  to 
go  thundering  down  the  endless  ages." 

"  It  ain't  bad  liquor,"  assented  McBane,  smacking 
his  lips. 

Jerry  received  the  empty  glasses  on  the  tray  and 


90  THE  MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

left  the  room.  He  had  scarcely  gained  the  hall  when 
the  general  called  him  back. 

"  O  Lawd  !  "  groaned  Jerry,  "  he  's  gwine  ter  ax 
me  fer  de  change.  Yas,  suh,  yas,  suh ;  comin',  gin'l, 
comin',  suh !  " 

"  You  may  keep  the  change,  Jerry,"  said  the  gen- 
eral. 

Jerry's  face  grew  radiant  at  this  announcement. 
"  Yas,  suh,  gin'l ;  thank  y',  suh  ;  much  obleedzed,  suh. 
I  wuz  jus'  gwine  ter  fetch  it  in,  suh,  w'en  I  had  put 
de  tray  down.     Thank  y',  suh,  truly,  suh  !  " 

Jerry  backed  and  bowed  himself  out  into  the  halh 

"  Dat  wuz  a  close  shave,"  he  muttered,  as  he  swal- 
lowed the  remaining  contents  of  Major  Carteret's  glass. 
"  I  'lowed  dem  twenty  cents  wuz  gone  dat  time,  — 
an'  whar  I  wuz  gwine  ter  git  de  money  ter  take 
my  gal  ter  de  chu'ch  festibal  ter-night,  de  Lawd  only 
knows !  —  'less'n  I  borried  it  off 'n  Mr.  Ellis,  an'  I 
owes  him  sixty  cents  a'ready.  But  I  wonduh  w'at 
dem  w'ite  folks  in  dere  is  up  ter  ?  Dere  's  one  thing 
sho',  —  dey  're  gwine  ter  git  after  de  niggers  some 
way  er  'nuther,  an'  w'en  dey  does,  whar  is  Jerry  gwine 
ter  be?  Dat  's  de  mos'  impo'tantes'  question.  I  'm 
gwine  ter  look  at  dat  newspaper  dey  be'n  talkin'  'bout, 
an'  'less'n  my  min'  changes  might'ly,  I  'm  gwine  ter 
keep  my  mouf  shet  an'  stan'  in  wid  de  Angry-Saxon 
race,  —  ez  dey  calls  deyse'ves  nowadays,  —  an'  keep 
on  de  right  side  er  my  bread  an'  meat.  Wat  nigger 
ever  give  me  twenty  cents  in  all  my  bawn  days  ?  " 

"  By  the  way,  major,"  said  the  general,  who  lin- 
gered behind  McBane  as  they  were  leaving,  "  is  Miss 
Clara's  marriage  definitely  settled  upon  ?  " 

"  Well,  general,  not  exactly ;  but  it 's  the  under- 
standing that  they  will  marry  when  they  are  old 
enough." 


A  WHITE  MAN'S   "NIGGER"  91 

"  I  was  merely  thinking,"  the  general  went  on, 
"  that  if  I  were  you  I  'cl  speak  to  Tom  about  cards 
and  liquor.  He  gives  more  time  to  both  than  a  young 
man  can  afford.  I  'm  speaking  in  his  interest  and  in 
Miss  Clara's,  —  we  of  the  old  families  ought  to  stand 
together." 

"  Thank  you,  general,  for  the  hint.  I  '11  act  upon 
it." 

This  political  conference  was  fruitful  in  results. 
Acting  upon  the  plans  there  laid  out,  McBane  trav- 
eled extensively  through  the  state,  working  up  senti- 
ment in  favor  of  the  new  movement.  He  possessed  a 
certain  forceful  eloquence ;  and  white  supremacy  was 
so  obviously  the  divine  intention  that  he  had  merely 
to  affirm  the  doctrine  in  order  to  secure  adherents. 

General  Belmont,  whose  business  required  him  to 
spend  much  of  the  winter  in  Washington  and  New 
York,  lost  no  opportunity  to  get  the  ear  of  lawmakers, 
editors,  and  other  leaders  of  national  opinion,  and  to 
impress  upon  them,  with  persuasive  eloquence,  the 
impossibility  of  maintaining  existing  conditions,  and 
the  tremendous  blunder  which  had  been  made  in  con- 
ferring the  franchise  upon  the  emancipated  race. 

Carteret  conducted  the  press  campaign,  and  held 
out  to  the  Republicans  of  the  North  the  glittering 
hope  that,  with  the  elimination  of  the  negro  vote,  and 
a  proper  deference  to  Southern  feeling,  a  strong 
white  Republican  party  might  be  built  up  in  the  New 
South.  How  well  the  bait  took  is  a  matter  of  history, 
—  but  the  promised  result  is  still  in  the  future.  The 
disfranchisement  of  the  negro  has  merely  changed  the 
form  of  the  same  old  problem.  The  negro  had  no 
vote  before  the  rebellion,  and  few  other  rights,  and 
yet  the  negro  question  was,  for  a  century,  the  pivot 


92  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

of  American  politics.  It  plunged  the  nation  into  a 
bloody  war,  and  it  will  trouble  the  American  govern- 
ment and  the  American  conscience  until  a  sustained 
attempt  is  made  to  settle  it  upon  principles  of  justice 
and  equity. 

The  personal  ambitions  entertained  by  the  leaders 
of  this  movement  are  but  slightly  involved  in  this 
story.  McBane's  aims  have  been  touched  upon  else- 
where. The  general  would  have  accepted  the  nomi- 
nation for  governor  of  the  state,  with  a  vision  of  a 
senatorship  in  the  future.  Carteret  hoped  to  vindi- 
cate the  supremacy  of  his  race,  and  make  the  state  fit 
for  his  son  to  live  in,  and,  incidentally,  he  would  not 
refuse  any  office,  worthy  of  his  dignity,  which  a 
grateful  people  might  thrust  upon  him. 

So  powerful  a  combination  of  bigot,  self-seeking 
demagogue,  and  astute  politician  was  fraught  with 
grave  menace  to  the  peace  of  the  state  and  the  liber- 
ties of  the  people,  —  by  which  is  meant  the  whole 
people,  and  not  any  one  class,  sought  to  be  built  up 
at  the  expense  of  another. 


DELAMERE   PLAYS   A   TRUMP 

Carteret  did  not  forget  what  General  Belmont 
had  said  in  regard  to  Tom.  The  major  himself  had 
been  young,  not  so  very  long  ago,  and  was  inclined 
toward  indulgence  for  the  foibles  of  youth.  A  young 
gentleman  should  have  a  certain  knowledge  of  life,  — 
but  there  were  limits.  Clara's  future  happiness  must 
not  be  imperiled. 

The  opportunity  to  carry  out  this  purpose  was  not 
long  delayed.  Old  Mr.  Delamere  wished  to  sell  some 
timber  which  had  been  cut  at  Belleview,  and  sent 
Tom  down  to  the  Chronicle  office  to  leave  an  adver- 
tisement. The  major  saw  him  at  the  desk,  invited 
him  into  his  sanctum,  and  delivered  him  a  mild  lec- 
ture. The  major  was  kind,  and  talked  in  a  fatherly 
way  about  the  danger  of  extremes,  the  beauty  of 
moderation,  and  the  value  of  discretion  as  a  rule  of 
conduct.  He  mentioned  collaterally  the  unblemished 
honor  of  a  fine  old  family,  its  contemplated  alliance 
with  his  own,  and  dwelt  upon  the  sweet  simplicity  of 
Clara's  character.  The  major  was  a  man  of  feeling 
and  of  tact,  and  could  not  have  put  the  subject  in  a 
way  less  calculated  to  wound  the  amour  propre  of  a 
very  young  man. 

Delamere  had  turned  red  with  anger  while  the 
major  was  speaking.  He  was  impulsive,  and  an  effort 
was  required  to  keep  back  the  retort  that  sprang  once 


94  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

or  twice  to  his  lips ;  but  his  conscience  was  not  clear, 
and  he  could  not  afford  hard  words  with  Clara's  guar- 
dian and  his  grandfather's  friend.  Clara  was  rich, 
and  the  most  beautiful  girl  in  town  ;  they  were  en- 
gaged ;  he  loved  her  as  well  as  he  could  love  anything 
of  which  he  seemed  sure  ;  and  he  did  not  mean  that 
any  one  else  should  have  her.  The  major's  mild  cen- 
sure disturbed  slightly  his  sense  of  security ;  and 
while  the  major's  manner  did  not  indicate  that  he 
knew  anything  definite  against  him,  it  would  be  best 
to  let  well  enough  alone. 

"  Thank  you,  major,"  he  said,  with  w^ell-simulated 
frankness.  "  I  realize  that  I  may  have  been  a  little 
careless,  more  from  thoughtlessness  than  anything 
else  ;  but  my  heart  is  all  right,  sir,  and  I  am  glad 
that  my  conduct  has  been  brought  to  your  attention, 
for  what  you  have  said  enables  me  to  see  it  in  a  dif- 
ferent light.  I  will  be  more  careful  of  my  company 
hereafter  ;  for  I  love  Clara,  and  mean  to  try  to  be 
worthy  of  her.  Do  you  know  whether  she  will  be  at 
home  this  evening?" 

"  I  have  heard  nothing  to  the  contrary,"  replied  the 
major  warmly.  "  Call  her  up  by  telephone  and  ask 
—  or  come  up  and  see.  You  're  always  welcome,  my 
boy." 

Upon  leaving  the  office,  which  was  on  the  second 
floor,  Tom  met  Ellis  coming  up  the  stairs.  It  had 
several  times  of  late  occurred  to  Tom  that  Ellis  had  a 
sneaking  fondness  for  Clara.  Panoplied  in  his  own 
engagement,  Tom  had  heretofore  rather  enjoyed  the 
idea  of  a  hopeless  rival.  Ellis  was  such  a  solemn 
prig,  and  took  life  so  seriously,  that  it  was  a  pleasure 
to  see  him  sit  around  siohino-  for  the  unattainable. 
That  he  should  be  giving  pain  to  Ellis  added  a  certain 
zest  to  his  own  enjoyment. 


DELAMERE   PLAYS  A  TRUMP  95' 

But  this  interview  with  the  major  had  so  disquieted 
him  that  upon  meeting  Ellis  upon  the  stairs  he  was 
struck  by  a  sudden  suspicion.  He  knew  that  Major 
Carteret  seldom  went  to  the  Clarendon  Club,  and  that 
he  must  have  got  his  information  from  some  one  else. 
Ellis  was  a  member  of  the  club,  and  a  frequent  visitor. 
Who  more  likely  than  he  to  try  to  poison  Clara's 
mind,  or  the  minds  of  her  friends,  against  her  accepted 
lover  ?  Tom  did  not  think  that  the  world  was  using 
him  well  of  late  ;  bad  luck  had  pursued  him,  in  cards 
and  other  things,  and  despite  his  assumption  of  humil- 
ity, Carteret's  lecture  had  left  him  in  an  ugly  mood. 
He  nodded  curtly  to  Ellis  without  relaxing  the  scowl 
that  disfigured  his  handsome  features. 

"  That 's  the  damned  sneak  who  's  been  giving  me 
away,"  he  muttered.  "  I  '11  get  even  with  him  yet  for 
this." 

Delamere's  suspicions  with  regard  to  Ellis's  feelings 
were  not,  as  we  have  seen,  entirely  without  foundation. 
Indeed,  he  had  underestimated  the  strength  of  this 
rivalry  and  its  chances  of  success.  Ellis  had  been 
watching  Delamere  for  a  year.  There  had  been  nothing 
surreptitious  about  it,  but  his  interest  in  Clara  had  led 
him  to  note  things  about  his  favored  rival  which  might 
have  escaped  the  attention  of  others  less  concerned. 

Ellis  was  an  excellent  judge  of  character,  and  had 
formed  a  very  decided  opinion  of  Tom  Delamere. 
To  Ellis,  unbiased  by  ancestral  traditions,  biased  per- 
haps by  jealousy,  Tom  Delamere  was  a  type  of  the 
degenerate  aristocrat.  If,  as  he  had  often  heard,  it 
took  three  or  four  generations  to  make  a  gentleman, 
and  as  many  more  to  complete  the  curve  and  return  to 
the  base  from  which  it  started,  Tom  Delamere  belonged 
somewhere  on  the  downward  slant,  with  large  possibil- 


96  THE  MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

ities  of  further  decline.  Old  Mr.  Delamere,  who  might 
be  taken  as  the  apex  of  an  ideal  aristocratic  develop- 
ment, had  been  distinguished,  during  his  active  life, 
as  Ellis  had  learned,  for  courage  and  strength  of  will, 
courtliness  of  bearing,  deference  to  his  superiors,  of 
whom  there  had  been  few,  courtesy  to  his  equals,  kind- 
ness and  consideration  for  those  less  highly  favored, 
and  above  all,  a  scrupulous  sense  of  honor  ;  his  grand- 
son Tom  was  merely  the  shadow  without  the  substance, 
the  empty  husk  without  the  grain.  Of  grace  he  had 
plenty.  In  manners  he  could  be  perfect,  \vhen  he  so 
chose.  Courage  and  strength  he  had  none.  Ellis  had 
seen  this  fellow,  who  boasted  of  his  descent  from  a 
line  of  cavaliers,  turn  pale  with  fright  and  spring  from 
a  buggy  to  which  was  harnessed  a  fractious  horse, 
which  a  negro  stable-boy  drove  fearlessly.  A  valiant 
carpet-knight,  skilled  in  all  parlor  exercises,  great  at 
whist  or  euchre,  a  dream  of  a  dancer,  unexcelled  in 
Cakewalk  or  "  coon  "  impersonations,  for  which  he  was 
in  large  social  demand,  Ellis  had  seen  him  kick  an  in- 
offensive negro  out  of  his  path  and  treat  a  poor-white 
man  with  scant  courtesy.  He  susjDccted  Delamere  of 
cheating  at  cards,  and  loiew  that  others  entertained 
the  same  suspicion.  For  while  regular  in  his  own 
habits,  —  his  poverty  would  not  have  permitted  him 
any  considerable  extravagance,  —  Ellis's  position  as  a 
newspaperman  kept  him  in  touch  with  w^iat  was  going 
on  about  town.  He  was  a  member,  proposed  by  Car- 
teret, of  the  Clarendon  Club,  where  cards  were  indulged 
in  within  reasonable  limits,  and  a  certain  set  were 
known  to  bet  dollars  in  terms  of  dimes. 

Delamere  was  careless,  too,  about  money  matters. 
He  had  a  habit  of  borrowing,  right  and  left,  small  sums 
which  might  be  conveniently  forgotten  by  the  borrower. 


DELAMERE   PLAYS   A  TRUMP  97 

and  for  which  the  lender  would  dislike  to  ask.  Ellis 
had  a  strain  of  thrift,  derived  from  a  Scotch  ancestry, 
and  a  tenacious  memory  for  financial  details.  Indeed, 
he  had  never  had  so  much  money  that  he  could  lose 
track  of  it.  He  never  saw  Delamere  without  being 
distinctly  conscious  that  Delamere  owed  him  four  dol- 
lars, which  he  had  lent  at  a  time  when  he  could  ill 
afford  to  spare  it.  It  was  a  prerogative  of  aristocracy, 
Ellis  reflected,  to  live  upon  others,  and  the  last  privi- 
lege which  aristocracy  in  decay  would  willingly  relin- 
quish. Neither  did  the  aristocratic  memory  seem  able 
to  retain  the  sordid  details  of  a  small  pecuniary  trans- 
action. 

No  doubt  the  knowledge  that  Delamere  was  the 
favored  lover  of  Miss  Pemberton  lent  a  touch  of  bitter- 
ness to  Ellis's  reflections  upon  his  rival.  Ellis  had  no 
grievance  against  the  "  aristocracy  "  of  Wellington. 
The  "  best  people  "  had  received  him  cordially,  though 
his  father  had  not  been  of  their  caste  ;  but  Ellis  hated 
a  hypocrite,  and  despised  a  coward,  and  he  felt  sure 
that  Delamere  was  both.  Otherwise  he  would  have 
struggled  against  his  love  for  Clara  Pemberton.  His 
passion  for  her  had  grown  with  his  appreciation  of 
Delamere's  un worthiness.  As  a  friend  of  the  family, 
he  knew  the  nature  and  terms  of  the  engagement,  and 
that  if  the  marriage  took  place  at  all,  it  would  not  be 
for  at  least  a  year.  This  was  a  long  time,  —  many 
things  might  happen  in  a  year,  especially  to  a  man 
like  Tom  Delamere.  If  for  any  reason  Delamere  lost 
his  chance,  Ellis  meant  to  be  next  in  the  field.  He 
had  not  made  love  to  Clara,  but  he  had  missed  no 
opportunity  of  meeting  her  and  making  himself  quietly 
and  unobtrusively  agreeable. 

On  the  day  after  this  encounter  with  Delamere  on 


98  THE   MARROW   OF   TRADITION 

the  stairs  of  the  Chronicle  office,  Ellis,  while  walking 
down  Vine  Street,  met  old  Mrs.  Ochiltree.  She  was 
seated  in  her  own  buggy,  which  was  of  ancient  build 
and  pattern,  driven  by  her  colored  coachman  and  man 
of  all  work. 

"  Mr.  Ellis,"  she  called  in  a  shrill  voice,  having 
directed  her  coachman  to  draw  up  at  the  curb  as  she 
saw  the  young  man  approaching,  "  come  here.  I  want 
to  speak  to  you." 

Ellis  came  up  to  the  buggy  and  stood  uncovered 
beside  it. 

"  People  are  saying,"  said  Mrs.  Ochiltree,  "  that 
Tom  Delamere  is  drinking  hard,  and  has  to  be  carried 
home  intoxicated,  two  or  three  times  a  week,  by  old 
Mr.  Delamere's  man  Sandy.  Is  there  any  truth  in  the 
story  ?  "  ' 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Ochiltree,  I  am  not  Tom  Delamere's 
keeper.     Sandy  could  tell  you  better  than  I." 

"  You  are  dodging  my  question,  Mr.  Ellis.  Sandy 
would  n't  tell  me  the  truth,  and  I  know  that  you 
would  n't  lie,  —  you  don't  look  like  a  liar.  They  say 
Tom  is  gambling  scandalously.  What  do  you  know 
about  that?" 

"You  must  excuse  me,  Mrs.  Ochiltree.  A  great 
deal  of  what  we  hear  is  mere  idle  gossip,  and  the  truth 
is  often  grossly  exaggerated.  I  'm  a  member  of  the 
same  club  with  Delamere,  and  gentlemen  who  belong  to 
the  same  club  are  not  in  the  habit  of  talking  about  one 
another.  As  long  as  a  man  retains  his  club  member- 
ship, he  's  presumed  to  be  a  gentleman.  I  would  n't 
say  anything  against  Delamere  if  I  could." 

"  You  don't  need  to,"  replied  the  old  lady,  shaking 
her  finger  at  him  with  a  cunning  smile.  "  You  are  a 
very  open  young  man,  Mr.  Ellis,  and  I  can  read  you 


DELAMERE   PLAYS   A  TRUMP  99 

like  a  book.  You  are  much  smarter  tlian  you  look, 
but  you  can't  fool  me.     Good -morning." 

Mrs.  Ochiltree  drove  immediately  to  her  niece's, 
where  she  found  Mrs.  Carteret  and  Clara  at  home. 
Clara  was  very  fond  of  the  baby,  and  was  holding  him 
in  her  arms.  He  was  a  fine  baby,  and  bade  fair  to 
realize  the  bright  hopes  built  upon' him. 

"You  hold  a  baby  very  naturally,  Clara,"  chuckled 
the  old  lady.  "  I  suppose  you  are  in  training.  But 
you  ought  to  talk  to  Tom.  I  have  just  learned  from 
Mr.  Ellis  that  Tom  is  carried  home  drunk  two  or 
three  times  a  week,  and  that  he  is  gambling  in  the 
most  reckless  manner  imaginable." 

Clara's  eyes  flashed  indignantl}^.  Ere  she  could 
speak,  Mrs.  Carteret  exclaimed  :  — 

"  Why,  Aunt  Polly  !  did  Mr.  Ellis  say  that  ?  " 

"  I  got  it  from  Dinah,"  she  replied,  "  who  heard  it 
from  her  husband,  who  learned  it  from  a  waiter  at  the 
club.     And  "  — 

"  Pshaw  !  "  said  Mrs.  Carteret,  "  mere  servants' 
gossip." 

"No,  it  isn't,  Olivia.  I  met  Mr.  Ellis  on  the 
street,  and  asked  him  point  blank,  and  he  didn't 
deny  it.  He  's  a  member  of  the  club,  and  ought  to 
know." 

"  Well,  Aunt  Polly,  it  can't  be  true.  Tom  is  here 
every  other  night,  and  how  could  he  carry  on  so  with- 
out showing  the  signs  of  it?  and  where  would  he 
get  the  money  ?  You  know  he  has  only  a  moderate 
allowance." 

"  He  may  win  it  at  cards,  —  it 's  better  to  be  born 
lucky  than  rich,"  returned  Mrs.  Ochiltree.  "  Then 
he  has  expectations,  and  can  get  credit.  There  's  no 
doubt  that  Tom  is  going  on  shamefully." 


100  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

Clara's  indignation  had  not  yet  found  vent  in 
speech  ;  Olivia  had  said  all  that  was  necessary,  but 
she  had  been  thinking  rapidly.  Even  if  all  this  had 
been  true,  why  should  Mr.  Ellis  have  said  it  ?  Or,  if 
he  had  not  stated  it  directlv,  he  had  left  the  inference 
to  be  drawn.  It  seemed  a  most  unfair  and  unoentle- 
manly  thing.  What  motive  could  Ellis  have  for  such 
an  act? 

She  was  not  long  in  reaching  a  conclusion  which 
was  not  flattering  to  Ellis.  Mr.  Ellis  came  often 
to  the  house,  and  she  had  enjoyed  his  society  in  a 
friendly  way.  That  he  had  found  her  pleasant  com- 
pany had  been  very  evident.  She  had  never  taken 
his  attentions  seriously,  however,  or  regarded  his  visits 
as  made  esj^ecially  to  her,  nor  had  the  rest  of  the 
family  treated  them  from  that  point  of  view.  Her  en- 
gagement to  Tom  Delamere,  though  not  yet  formally 
ratified,  was  so  well  understood  by  the  world  of  Wel- 
lington that  Mr.  Ellis  would  scarcely  have  presumed 
to  think  of  her  as  anything  more  than  a  friend. 

This  revelation  of  her  aunt's,  however,  put  a  dif- 
ferent face  upon  his  conduct.  Certain  looks  and  sighs 
and  enigmatical  remarks  of  Ellis,  to  which  she  had 
paid  but  casual  attention  and  attached  no  particular 
significance,  now  recurred  to  her  memory  with  a  new 
meaning.  He  had  now  evidently  tried,  in  a  round- 
about way,  to  besmirch  Tom's  character  and  under- 
mine him  in  her  regard.  While  loving  Tom,  she 
had  liked  Ellis  well  enough,  as  a  friend ;  but  he  had 
abused  the  privileges  of  friendship,  and  she  would 
teach  him  a  needed  lesson. 

Nevertheless,  Mrs.  Ochiltree's  story  had  given 
Clara  food  for  thought.  She  was  uneasily  conscious, 
after  all,  that  there  might  be  a  grain  of  truth  in  what 


dela:\iere  plays  a  trump  loi 

had  been  said,  enough,  at  least,  to  justify  her  in  warn- 
ing Tom  to  be  careful,  lest  his  enemies  should  distort 
some  amiable  weakness  into  a  serious  crime. 

She  put  this  view  of  the  case  to  Tom  at  their  next 
meeting,  assuring  him,  at  the  same  time,  of  her  un- 
bounded faith  and  confidence.  She  did  not  mention 
Ellis's  name,  lest  Tom,  in  righteous  indignation, 
might  do  something  rash,  which  he  might  thereafter 
regret.  If  any  subtler  or  more  obscure  motive  kept 
her  silent  as  to  Ellis,  she  was  not  aware  of  it ;  for 
Clara's  views  of  life  were  still  in  the  objective  stage, 
and  she  had  not  yet  fathomed  the  deepest  recesses  of 
her  own  consciousness. 

Delamere  had  the  cunning  of  weakness.  He  knew, 
too,  better  than  any  one  else  could  know,  how  much 
truth  there  was  in  the  rumors  concerning  him,  and 
whether  or  not  they  could  be  verified  too  easily  for 
him  to  make  an  indignant  denial.  After  a  little  rapid 
reflection,  he  decided  upon  a  different  course. 

"  Clara,"  he  said  with  a  sigh,  taking  the  hand 
which  she  generously  yielded  to  soften  any  suggestion 
of  reproach  which  he  may  have  read  into  her  solici- 
tude, "  you  are  my  guardian  angel.  I  do  not  know, 
of  course,  who  has  told  you  this  pack  of  lies,  —  for  I 
can  see  that  you  have  heard  more  than  you  have  told 
me,  —  but  I  think  I  could  guess  the  man  they  came 
from.  I  am  not  perfect,  Clara,  though  I  have  done 
nothing  of  which  a  gentleman  should  be  ashamed. 
There  is  one  sure  way  to  stop  the  tongue  of  calumny. 
My  home  life  is  not  ideal,  —  grandfather  is  an  old, 
weak  man,  and  the  house  needs  the  refining  and 
softening  influence  of  a  lady's  presence.  I  do  not 
love  club  life ;  its  ideals  are  not  elevatinof.  AVith 
you  by  my  side,  dearest.  I  should  be  preserved  from 


102  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

every  influence  except  the  purest  and  the  best.  Don't 
you  think,  dearest,  that  the  major  might  be  induced 
to  shorten  our  weary  term  of  waiting  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Tom,"  she  demurred  blushingly,  "  I  shall  be 
young  enough  at  eighteen  ;  and  you  are  barely  twenty- 
one." 

But  Tom  proved  an  eloquent  pleader,  and  love  a 
still  more  persuasive  advocate.  Clara  spoke  to  the 
major  the  same  evening,  who  looked  grave  at  the  sug- 
gestion, and  said  he  would  think  about  it.  They 
were  both  very  young  ;  but  where  both  parties  were 
of  good  family,  in  good  health  and  good  circum- 
stances, an  early  marriage  might  not  be  undesirable. 
Tom  was  perhaps  a  little  unsettled,  but  blood  would 
tell  in  the  long  run,  and  marriage  always  exercised  a 
steadying  influence. 

The  only  return,  therefore,  which  Ellis  received  for 
his  well-meant  effort  to  ward  off  Mrs.  Ochiltree's  em- 
barrassing inquiries  was  that  he  did  not  see  Clara 
upon  his  next  visit,  which  was  made  one  afternoon 
while  he  was  on  night  duty  at  the  office.  In  conver- 
sation with  Mrs.  Carteret  he  learned  that  Clara's  mar- 
riage had  been  definitely  agreed  upon,  and  the  date 
fixed,  —  it  was  to  take  place  in  about  six  months. 
Meeting  Miss  Pemberton  on  the  street  the  following 
day,  he  received  the  slightest  of  nods.  When  he 
called  again  at  the  house,  after  a  week  of  misery,  she 
treated  him  with  a  sarcastic  coolness  which  chilled 
his  heart. 

"How  have  I  offended  vou.  Miss  Clara?"  he  de- 
manded  desperately,  when  they  were  left  alone  for  a 
moment. 

"Offended  me?"  she  replied,  lifting  her  eyebrows 
with  an  air  of  puzzled  surprise.     "  Why,  Mr.  Ellis ! 


DELAMERE   PLAYS   A  TRUMP  103 

What  could  have  put  such  a  notion  into  your  head  ? 
Oh  dear,  I  think  I  hear  Dodie,  —  I  know  you  '11  ex- 
cuse me,  Mr.  Ellis,  won't  you  ?  Sister  Olivia  wdll  be 
back  in  a  moment ;  and  we  're  expecting  Aunt  Polly 
this  afternoon,  —  if  you  '11  stay  awhile  she  '11  be  glad 
to  talk  to  you !  You  can  tell  her  all  the  interesting 
news  about  your  friends !  " 


XI 

THE   BABY   AND   THE   BIKD 

When  Ellis,  after  this  rebuff,  had  disconsolately 
taken  his  leave,  Clara,  much  elated  at  the  righteous 
punishment  she  had  inflicted  upon  the  slanderer,  ran 
upstairs  to  the  nursery,  and,  snatching  Dodie  from 
Mammy  Jane's  arms,  began  dancing  gayly  with  him 
round  the  room. 

"  Look  a-hyuh,  honey,"  said  Mammy  Jane,  "  you 
better  be  keerful  wid  dat  chile,  an'  don'  drap  'im  on 
de  flo'.  You  might  let  him  fall  on  his  head  an'  break 
his  neck.  My,  my !  but  you  two  does  make  a  pretty 
pictur' !  You  '11  be  wantin'  ole  Jane  ter  come  an' 
nuss  yo'  child'en  some  er  dese  days,"  she  chuckled 
unctuously. 

Mammy  Jane  had  been  very  much  disturbed  by 
the  recent  dangers  through  which  little  Dodie  had 
passed ;  and  his  escape  from  strangulation,  in  the 
first  place,  and  then  from  the  knife  had  impressed 
her  as  little  less  than  miraculous.  She  was  not  certain 
whether  this  result  had  been  brought  about  by  her 
manipulation  of  the  buried  charm,  or  by  the  prayers 
which  had  been  offered  for  the  child,  but  was  inclined 
to  believe  that  both  had  cooperated  to  avert  the 
threatened  calamity.  The  favorable  outcome  of  this 
particular  incident  had  not,  however,  altered  the 
general  situation.  Prayers*  and  charms,  after  all, 
were  merely  temporary  things,  which  must  be  con- 


THE  BABY  AND   THE   BIRD  105 

stantly  renewed,  and  might  be  forgotten  or  over- 
looked ;  while  the  mole,  on  the  contrary,  neither  faded 
nor  went  away.  If  its  malign  influence  might  for  a 
time  seem  to  disappear,  it  was  merely  lying  dormant, 
like  the  germs  of  some  deadly  disease,  awaiting  its 
opportunity  to  strike  at  an  unguarded  spot. 

Clara  and  the  baby  were  laughing  in  great  glee, 
when  a  mockingbird,  perched  on  the  topmost  bough  of 
a  small  tree  opposite  the  nursery  window,  burst  sud- 
denly into  song,  with  many  a  trill  and  quaver.  Clara, 
with  the  child  in  her  arms,  sprang  to  the  open  window. 

"  Sister  Olivia,"  she  cried,  turning  her  face  toward 
Mrs.  Carteret,  who  at  that  moment  entered  the  room, 
"come  and  look  at  Dodie." 

The  baby  was  listening  intently  to  the  music,  mean- 
w^hile  gurgling  with  delight,  and  reaching  his  chubby 
hands  toward  the  source  of  this  pleasing  sound.  It 
seemed  as  though  the  mockino^bird  were  aware  of  his 
appreciative  audience,  for  he  ran  through  the  songs  of 
a  dozen  different  birds,  selecting,  with  the  discrimi- 
nation of  a  connoisseur  and  entire  confidence  in  his 
own  powers,  those  which  were  most  difficult  and  most 
alluring. 

Mrs.  Carteret  approached  the  window,  followed  by 
Mammy  Jane,  who  waddled  over  to  join  the  admiring 
party.  So  absorbed  were  the  three  women  in  the 
baby  and  the  bird  that  neither  one  of  them  observed 
a  neat  top  buggy,  drawn  by  a  sleek  sorrel  pony,  pass- 
ing slowly  along  the  street  before  the  house.  In  the 
buggy  was  seated  a  lady,  and  beside  her  a  little  boy, 
dressed  in  a  child's  sailor  suit  and  a  straw  hat.  The 
lady,  with  a  wistful  expression,  was  looking  toward 
the  party  grouped  in  the  open  window. 

Mrs.  Carteret,  chancing  to  lower  her  eyes  for  an 


106  THE  MARHOW  OF  TRADITION 

instant,  caught  the  other  woman's  look  directed  toward 
her  and  her  child.  With  a  glance  of  cold  aversion 
she  turned  away  from  the  window. 

Old  Mammy  Jane  had  observed  this  movement, 
and  had  divined  the  reason  for  it.  She  stood  beside 
Clara,  watching  the  retreating  buggy. 

"  Uhhuh  ! "  she  said  to  herself,  "  it 's  huh  sister 
Janet!  She  ma'ied  a  doctuh,  an'  all  dat,  an'  she 
lives  in  a  big  house,  an'  she  's  be'n  roun'  de  worl'  an 
de  Lawd  knows  where  e'se ;  but  Mis'  'Livy  don'  like 
de  sight  er  her,  an'  never  will,  ez  long  ez  de  sun  rises 
an'  sets.  Dey  ce't'nly  does  favor  one  anudder,  — 
anybody  mought  'low  dey  wuz  twins,  ef  dey  did  n' 
know  better.  Well,  well !  Fo'ty  yeahs  ago  who  'd 
'a'  ever  expected  ter  see  a  nigger  gal  ridin'  in  her  own 
buggy  ?  My,  my  !  but  I  don'  know,  —  I  don'  know  ! 
It  don'  look  right,  an'  it  ain'  gwine  ter  las' !  —  you 
can't  make  me  b'lieve !  " 

Meantime  Janet,  stung  by  Mrs.  Carteret's  look,  — 
the  nearest  approach  she  had  ever  made  to  a  recog- 
nition of  her  sister's  existence,  —  had  turned  away 
with  hardening  face.  She  had  struck  her  pony  sharply 
with  the  whip,  much  to  the  gentle  creature's  surprise, 
when  the  little  boy,  who  was  still  looking  back,  caught 
his  mother's  sleeve  and  exclaimed  excitedly  :  — 

"  Look,  look,  mamma !     The  baby,  —  the  baby !  " 

Janet  turned  instantly,  and  with  a  mother's  instinct 
gave  an  involuntary  cry  of  alarm. 

At  the  moment  when  Mrs.  Carteret  had  turned 
away  from  the  window,  and  while  Mammy  Jane  was 
watching  Janet,  Clara  had  taken  a  step  forward, 
and  was  leaning  against  the  window-sill.  The  baby, 
convulsed  with  delight,  had  given  a  spasmodic  spring 
and   slipped   from    Clara's  arms.      Instinctively  the 


THE  BABY  AND  THE  BIRD  107 

young  woman  gripped  the  long  skirt  as  it  slipped 
through  her  hands,  and  held  it  tenaciously,  though 
too  frightened  for  an  instant  to  do  more.  Mammy 
Jane,  ashen  with  sudden  dread,  uttered  an  inarticulate 
scream,  but  retained  self-possession  enough  to  reach 
down  and  draw  up  the  child,  which  hung  dangerously 
suspended,  head  downward,  over  the  brick  pavement 
below. 

"  Oh,  Clara,  Clara,  how  could  you ! "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Carteret  reproachfully ;  "  you  might  have  killed  my 
child  ! " 

She  had  snatched  the  child  from  Jane's  arms,  and 
was  holding  him  closely  to  her  own  breast.  Struck 
by  a  sudden  thought,  she  drew  near  the  window  and 
looked  out.  Twice  within  a  few  weeks  her  child  had 
been  in  serious  danger,  and  upon  each  occasion  a 
member  of  the  Miller  family  had  been  involved,  for 
she  had  heard  of  Dr.  Miller's  presumption  in  trying 
to  force  himself  where  he  must  have  known  he  would 
be  unwelcome. 

Janet  was  just  turning  her  head  away  as  the  buggy 
moved  slowly  off.  Olivia  felt  a  violent  wave  of  antip- 
athy sweep  over  her  toward  this  baseborn  sister  who 
had  thus  thrust  herself  beneath  her  eyes.  If  she  had 
not  cast  her  brazen  glance  toward  the  window,  she 
herself  would  not  have  turned  away  and  lost  sight  of 
her  child.  To  this  shameless  intrusion,  linked  with 
Clara's  carelessness,  had  been  due  the  catastrophe,  so 
narrowly  averted,  which  might  have  darkened  her  own 
life  forever.  She  took  to  her  bed  for  several  days, 
and  for  a  lonj^  time  was  cold  toward  Clara,  and  did 
not  permit  her  to  touch  the  child. 

Mammy  Jane  entertained  a  theory  of  her  own  about 
the   accident,   by   which    the    blame  was   placed,  in 


108  THE  MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

another  way,  exactly  where  Mrs.  Carteret  had  laid  It. 
Julia's  daughter,  Janet,  had  been  looking  intently 
toward  the  window  just  before  little  Dodie  had  sprung 
from  Clara's  arms.  Might  she  not  have  cast  the  evil 
eye  upon  the  baby,  and  sought  thereby  to  draw  him 
out  of  the  window  ?  One  would  not  ordinarily  expect 
so  young  a  woman  to  possess  such  a  power,  but  she 
might  have  acquired  it,  for  this  very  purpose,  from 
some  more  experienced  person.  By  the  same  reason- 
ing, the  mockingbird  might  have  been  a  familiar  of  the 
witch,  and  the  two  might  have  conspired  to  lure  the 
infant  to  destruction.  Whether  this  were  so  or  not, 
the  transaction  at  least  wore  a  peculiar  look.  There 
was  no  use  telling  Mis'  'Livy  about  it,  for  she  did  n't 
believe,  or  pretended  not  to  believe,  in  witchcraft  and 
conjuration.  But  one  could  not  be  too  careful.  The 
child  was  certainly  born  to  be  exposed  to  great  dangers, 

—  the  mole  behind  the  left  ear  was  an  unfailing  sign, 

—  and  no  precaution  should  be  omitted  to  counteract 
its  baleful  influence. 

While  adjusting  the  baby's  crib,  a  few  days  later, 
Mrs.  Carteret  found  fastened  under  one  of  the  slats 
a  small  bag  of  cotton  cloth,  about  half  an  inch  long 
and  tied  with  a  black  thread,  upon  opening  which  she 
found  a  few  small  roots  or  fibres  and  a  pinch  of  dried 
and  crumpled  herbs.  It  was  a  good-luck  charm 
which  Mammy  Jane  had  placed  there  to  ward  off  the 
threatened  evil  from  the  grandchild  of  her  dear  old 
mistress.  Mrs.  Carteret's  first  impulse  was  to  throw 
the  bag  into  the  fire,  but  on  second  thoughts  she  let  it 
remain.  To  remove  it  would  give  unnecessary  pain  to 
the  old  nurse.  Of  course  these  old  negro  superstitions 
were  absurd,  —  but  if  the  charm  did  no  good,  it  at 
least  would  do  no  harm. 


XII 

ANOTHER  SOUTHERN  PRODUCT 

One  morning  shortly  after  the  opening  of  the  hos< 
pital,  while  Dr.  Miller  was  making  his  early  rounds, 
a  new  patient  walked  in  with  a  smile  on  his  face  and 
a  broken  arm  hanging  limply  by  his  side.  Miller 
recognized  in  him  a  black  giant  by  the  name  of  Josh 
Green,  who  for  many  years  had  worked  on  the  docks 
for  Miller's  father,  —  and  simultaneously  identified 
him  as  the  dust-beo^rimed  neo^ro  who  had  stolen  a  ride 
to  AVellington  on  the  trucks  of  a  passenger  car. 

"  Well,  Josh,"  asked  the  doctor,  as  he  examined  the 
fracture,  "  how  did  you  get  this  ?  Been  fighting 
again  ?  " 

"  No,  suh,  I  don'  s'pose  you  could  ha'dly  call  it  a 
fight.  One  er  dem  dagoes  off'n  a  Souf  American 
boat  gimme  some  er  his  jaw,  an'  I  give  'im  a  back 
answer,  an'  here  I  is  wid  a  broken  arm.  He  got  holt 
er  a  belayin'-pin  befo'  I  could  hit  'ira." 

"  What  became  of  the  other  man  ? "  demanded 
Miller  suspiciously.  He  perceived,  from  the  indiffer- 
ence with  which  Josh  bore  the  manipulation  of  the 
fractured  limb,  that  such  an  accident  need  not  have 
interfered  seriously  with  the  use  of  the  remaining  arm, 
and  he  knew  that  Josh  had  a  reputation  for  absolute 
fearlessness. 

"  Lemme  see,"  said  Josh  reflectively,  "  ef  I  kin 
'member  w'at  did  become  er  him !     Oh,  yes,  I  'mem 


110  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

ber  now !  Dey  tuck  him  ter  de  Marine  Horspittle  in 
de  amberlance,  'cause  his  leg  wuz  broke,  an'  I  reckon 
somethin'  must  'a'  accident'ly  hit  'im  in  de  jaw,  fer  he 
wuz  scatt'rin'  teeth  all  de  way  'long  de  street.  I  did  n' 
wan'  ter  kill  de  man,  fer  he  might  have  somebody 
dependin'  on  'im,  an'  I  knows  how  dat  'd  be  ter  dem. 
But  no  man  kin  call  me  a  damn'  low-down  nig^gfer  and 
keep  on  enjoyin'  good  health  right  along." 

"  It  was  considerate  of  you  to  spare  his  life,"  said 
Miller  dryly,  "  but  you  '11  hit  the  wrong  man  some 
day.  These  are  bad  times  for  bad  negroes.  You  '11 
get  into  a  quarrel  with  a  white  man,  and  at  the  end  of 
it  there  '11  be  a  lynching,  or  a  funeral.  You  'd  better 
be  peaceable  and  endure  a  little  injustice,  rather  than 
run  the  risk  of  a  sudden  and  violent  death." 

"  I  expec's  ter  die  a  vi'lent  death  in  a  quarrel  wid 
a  w'itp  man,"  replied  Josh,  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone, 
"  an'  fu'thermo',  he  's  gwine  ter  die  at  the  same  time, 
er  a  little  befo'.  I  be'n  takin'  my  own  time  'bout 
killin'  'im  ;  I  ain'  be'n  crowdin'  de  man,  but  I  '11  be 
ready  after  a  w'ile,  an'  den  he  kin  look  out !  " 

"  And  I  suppose  you  're  merely  keeping  in  practice 
on  these  other  fellows  who  come  your  way.  When  I 
get  your  arm  dressed,  you  'd  better  leave  town  till 
that  fellow's  boat  sails  ;  it  may  save  you  the  expense 
of  a  trial  and  three  months  in  the  chain-gang.  But 
this  talk  about  killing  a  man  is  all  nonsense.  What 
has  any  man  in  this  town  done  to  you,  that  you  should 
thirst  for  his  blood  ?  " 

"  No,  suh,  it,  ain'  nonsense,  —  it 's  straight,  solem' 
fac'.  I'm  gwine  ter  kill  dat  man  as  sho'  as  I  'm 
settin'  in  dis  cheer  ;  an'  dey  ain'  nobody  kin  say  I 
ain'  got  a  right  ter  kill  'im.  Does  you  'member  de 
Ku-Klux  ?  " 


ANOTHER  SOUTHERN  PRODUCT     111 

"  Yes,  but  I  was  a  child  at  the  time,  and  recollect 
very  little  about  them.  It  is  a  page  of  history  which 
most  people  are  glad  to  forget." 

"  Yas,  suh  ;  I  was  a  chile,  too,  but  I  wuz  right  in 
it,  an'  so  I  'members  mo'  erbout  it  'n  you  does.  My 
mammy  an'  daddy  lived  'bout  ten  miles  f'm  here,  up 
de  river.  One  night  a  crowd  er  w'ite  men  come  ter 
ou'  house  an'  tuck  my  daddy  out  an'  shot  'im  ter 
death,  an'  skeered  my  mammy  so  she  ain'  be'n  herse'f 
f'm  dat  day  ter  dis.  I  wa'n't  mo'  'n  ten  years  ole 
at  de  time,  an'  w'en  my  mammy  seed  de  w'ite  men 
comin',  she  tol'  me  ter  run.  I  hid  in  de  bushes  an' 
seen  de  whole  thing,  an'  it  wuz  branded  on  my 
mem'ry,  suh,  like  a  red-hot  iron  bran's  de  skin.  De 
w'ite  folks  had  masks  on,  but  one  of  'em  fell  off,  —  he 
wuz  de  boss,  he  wuz  de  head  man,  an'  tol'  de  res'  w'at 
ter  do,  —  an'  I  seen  his  face.  It  wuz  a  easy  face  ter 
'member ;  an'  I  swo'  den,  'way  down  deep  in  my 
hea't,  little  ez  I  wuz,  dat  some  day  er  'nother  I  'd  kill 
dat  man.  I  ain't  never  had  no  doubt  erbout  it ;  it 's 
jus'  w'at  I  'm  livin'  fer,  an'  I  know  I  ain'  gwine  ter 
die  till  I  've  done  it.  Some  lives  fer  one  thing  an' 
some  fer  another,  but  dat 's  my  job.  I  ain'  be'n  in  no 
has'e,  fer  I  'm  not  ole  yit,  an'  dat  man  is  in  good 
health.  I  'd  like  ter  see  a  little  er  de  worF  befo'  I 
takes  chances  on  leavin'  it  sudden ;  an',  mo'over, 
somebody 's  got  ter  take  keer  er  de  ole  'oman.  But 
her  time  '11  come  some  er  dese  days,  an  den  his  time  '11 
be  come  —  an'  prob'ly  mine.  But  I  ain'  keerin'  'bout 
myse'f  :  w'en  I  git  thoo  wid  him,  it  won'  make  no 
diff'ence  'bout  me." 

Josh  was  evidently  in  dead  earnest.  Miller  re- 
called, very  vividly,  the  expression  he  had  seen  twice 
on  his  patient's  face,  during  the  journey  to  Welling- 


112  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

ton.  He  had  often  seen  Josh's  mother,  old  Aunt 
Milly, —  "  Silly  Milly,"  the  children  called  her,  —  wan- 
dering aimlessly  about  the  street,  muttering  to  herself 
incoherently.  He  had  felt  a  certain  childish  awe  at 
the  sioht  of  one  of  God's  creatures  who  had  lost  the 
light  of  reason,  and  he  had  always  vaguely  understood 
that  she  was  the  victim  of  human  cruelty,  though  he 
had  dated  it  farther  back  into  the  past.  This  was  his 
first  knowledge  of  the  real  facts  of  the  case. 

He  realized,  too,  for  a  moment,  the  continuity  of 
life,  how  inseparably  the  present  is  woven  with  the 
past,  how  certainly  the  future  will  be  but  the  outcome 
of  the  present.  He  had  supposed  this  old  wound 
healed.  The  negroes  were  not  a  vindictive  people. 
If,  swayed  by  passion  or  emotion,  they  sometimes  gave 
way  to  gusts  of  rage,  these  were  of  brief  duration. 
Absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of  their  doubtful  pre- 
sent and  their  uncertain  future,  they  gave  little 
thought  to  the  past,  —  it  was  a  dark  story,  which  they 
would  willingly  forget.  He  knew  the  timeworn  expla- 
nation that  the  Ku-Klux  movement,  in  the  main,  was 
merely  an  ebullition  of  boyish  spirits,  begun  to  amuse 
young  white  men  by  playing  upon  the  fears  and  su- 
perstitions of  ignorant  negroes.  Here,  however,  was 
its  tragic  side,  —  the  old  wound  still  bleeding,  the 
fruit  of  one  tragedy,  the  seed  of  another.  He  could 
not  approve  of  Josh's  application  of  the  Mosaic  law 
of  revenge,  and  yet  the  incident  was  not  without  sig- 
nificance. Here  was  a  negro  who  could  remember  an 
injury,  who  could  shape  his  life  to  a  definite  purpose, 
if  not  a  high  or  holy  one.  When  his  race  reached  the 
point  where  they  would  resent  a  wrong,  there  was 
hope  that  they  might  soon  attain  the  stage  where 
they  would  try,  and,  if  need  be,  die,  to  defend  a  right. 


ANOTHER  SOUTHERN  PRODUCT     113 

This  man,  too,  had  a  purpose  in  life,  and  was  willing 
to  die  that  he  might  accomplish  it.  Miller  was 
willing  to  give  up  his  life  to  a  cause.  Would  he 
be  equally  willing,  he  asked  himself,  to  die  for  it  ? 
Miller  had  no  prophetic  instinct  to  tell  him  how  soon 
he  would  have  the  opportunity  to  answer  his  own 
question.  But  he  could  not  encourage  Josh  to  carry 
out  this  dark  and  revengeful  purpose.  Every  worthy 
consideration  required  him  to  dissuade  his  patient 
from  such  a  desperate  course. 

"  You  had  better  put  away  these  murderous  fan- 
cies, Josh,"  he  said  seriously.  "  The  Bible  says  that 
we  should  '  forgive  our  enemies,  bless  them  that  curse 
us,  and  do  good  to  them  that  despitefully  use  us.'  " 

"  Yas,  suh,  I  've  I'arnt  all  dat  in  Sunday-school,  an' 
I  've  beared  de  preachers  say  it  time  an'  time  ag'in. 
But  it  'pears  ter  me  dat  dis  fergitfulniss  an'  fergivniss 
is  mighty  one-sided.  De  w'ite  folks  don'  fergive 
nothin'  de  niggers  does.  Dey  got  up  de  Ku-Klux, 
dey  said,  on  'count  er  de  kyarpit-baggers.  Dey  be'n 
talkin'  'bout  de  kyarpit-baggers  ever  sence,  an'  dey 
'pears  ter  fergot  all  'bout  de  Ku-Klux.  But  I  ain' 
fergot.  De  niggers  is  be'n  train'  ter  fergiveniss  ;  an' 
fer  fear  dey  might  fergit  how  ter  fergive,  de  w'ite 
folks  gives  'em  somethin'  new  ev'y  now  an'  den,  ter 
practice  on.  A  w'ite  man  kin  do  w'at  he  wants  ter  a 
nigger,  but  de  minute  de  nigger  gits  back  at  'im,  up 
goes  de  nigger,  an'  don'  come  down  tell  somebody  cuts 
'im  down.  If  a  nigger  gits  a'  office,  er  de  race  'pears 
ter  be  prosperin'  too  much,  de  w'ite  folks  up  an'  kills 
a  few,  so  dat  de  res'  kin  keep  on  fergivin'  an'  bein' 
thankful  dat  dey  're  lef '  alive.  Don'  talk  ter  me 
'bout  dese  w'ite  folks,  —  I  knows  'em,  I  does  I  Ef  a 
nigger  wants  ter  git  down  on  his  marrow-bones,  an'  eat 


114  THE   MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

dirt,  an'  call  'em  '  marster,'  he 's  a  good  nigger,  dere  's 
room  fer  him.  But  I  ain'  no  w'ite  folks'  nigger,  I 
ain'.  I  don'  call  no  man  '  marster.'  I  don'  wan'  no- 
tliin'  but  w'at  I  wo'k  fer,  but  I  wants  all  er  dat.  I 
never  moles's  no  w'ite  man,  'less  'n  he  moles's  me  fus'. 
But  w'en  de  ole  'oman  dies,  doctuh,  an'  I  gits  a  good 
chance  at  dat  w'ite  man,  —  dere  ain'  no-  use  talkin',  suh ! 
—  dere  's  gwine  ter  be  a  mix-up,  an'  a  fune'al,  er  two 
fune'als  —  er  may  be  mo',  ef  anybody  is  keerliss 
enough  to  git  in  de  way." 

"  Josh,"  said  the  doctor,  laying  a  cool  hand  on  the 
other's  brow,  "  you  're  feverish,  and  don't  know  what 
you  're  talking  about.  I  should  n't  let  my  mind  dwell 
on  such  things,  and  you  must  keep  quiet  until  this 
arm  is  well,  or  you  may  never  be  able  to  hit  any  one 
with  it  again." 

Miller  determined  that  when  Josh  got  better  he 
would  talk  to  him  seriously  and  dissuade  him  from 
this  dangerous  design.  He  had  not  asked  the  name 
of  Josh's  enemy,  but  the  look  of  murderous  hate  which 
the  dust-begrimed  tramp  of  the  railway  journey  had 
cast  at  Captain  George  McBane  rendered  any  such 
question  superfluous.  McBane  was  probably  deserv- 
ing of  any  evil  fate  which  might  befall  him  ;  but  such 
a  revenge  would  do  no  good,  would  right  no  wrong ; 
while  every  such  crime,  committed  by  a  colored  man, 
would  be  imputed  to  the  race,  which  was  already  stag- 
gering under  a  load  of  obloquy  because,  in  the  eyes 
of  a  prejudiced  and  undiscriminating  public,  it  must 
answer  as  a  whole  for  the  offenses  of  each  separate 
individual.  To  die  in  defense  of  the  right  was  heroic. 
To  kill  another  for  revenge  was  pitifully  human  and 
weak :  "  Vengeance  is  mine,  I  will  repay,"  saith  the 
Lord. 


XIII 

THE   CAKEWALK 

Old  Mr.  Delamere's  servant,  Sandy  Campbell,  was 
in  deep  trouble.  ^^ 

A  party  of  Northern  visitors  had  been  staying  for 
several  days  at  the  St.  James  Hotel.  The  gentlemen 
of  the  party  were  concerned  in  a  projected  cotton  mill, 
while  the  ladies  were  much  interested  in  the  study  of 
social  conditions,  and  especially  in  the  negro  problem. 
As  soon  as  their  desire  for  information  became  known, 
they  were  taken  courteously  under  the  wing  of  promi- 
nent citizens  and  their  wives,  who  gave  them,  at  elabo- 
rate luncheons,  the  Southern  white  man's  views  of  the 
negro,  sighing  sentimentally  over  the  disappearance  of 
the  good  old  negro  of  before  the  war,  and  gravely 
deploring  the  degeneracy  of  his  descendants.  They  en- 
larged upon  the  amount  of  money  the  Southern  whites 
had  spent  for  the  education  of  the  negro,  and  shook 
their  heads  over  the  inadequate  results  accruing  from 
this  unexampled  generosity.  It  was  sad,  they  said,  to 
witness  this  spectacle  of  a  dying  race,  unable  to  with- 
stand the  competition  of  a  superior  type.  The  severe 
reprisals  taken  by  white  people  for  certain  crimes  com- 
mitted by  negroes  were  of  course  not  the  acts  of  the 
best  people,  who  deplored  them ;  but  still  a  certain 
charity  should  be  extended  towards  those  who  in  the 
intense  and  rig-hteous  ang-er  of  the  moment  should  take 
the  law  into  their  own  hands  and  deal  out  rough  but 


V. 


116  THE  MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

still  substantial  justice  ;  for  no  negro  was  ever  lynched 
without  incontestable  proof  of  his  guilt.  In  order  to 
be  perfectly  fair,  and  give  their  visitors  an  opportunity 
to  see  both  sides  of  the  question,  they  accompanied  the 
Northern  visitors  to  a  colored  church  where  they  might 
hear  a  colored  preacher,  who  had  won  a  jocular  popu- 
larity throughout  the  whole  country  by  an  oft-repeated 
sermon  intended  to  demonstrate  that  the  earth  was  flat 
like  a  j^ancake.  This  celebrated  divine  could  always 
draw  a  white  audience,  except  on  the  days  when  his 
no  less  distinguished  white  rival  in  the  field  of  sen- 
sationalism preached  his  equally  famous  sermon  to 
prove  that  hell  was  exactly  one  half  mile,  linear  mea- 
sure, from  the  city  limits  of  Wellington.  Whether 
accidentally  or  not,  the  Northern  visitors  had  no  oppor- 
tunity to  meet  or  talk  alone  with  any  colored  person  in 
the  city  except  the  servants  at  the  hotel.  When  one 
of  the  party  suggested  a  visit  to  the  colored  mission 
school,  a  Southern  friend  kindly  volunteered  to  accom- 
pany them. 

The  visitors  were  naturally  much  impressed  by  what 
they  learned  from  their  courteous  hosts,  and  felt  in- 
clined to  sympathize  with  the  Southern  people,  for  the 
ftegro  is  not  counted  as  a  Southerner,  except  to  fix  the 
basis  of  congressional  representation.  There  might  of 
course  be  things  to  criticise  here  and  there,  certain 
customs  for  which  they  did  not  exactly  see  the  neces- 
sity, and  which  seemed  in  conflict  with  the  highest 
ideals  of  liberty  :  but  surely  these  courteous,  soft-spoken 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  entirely  familiar  with  local  con- 
ditions, who  descanted  so  earnestly  and  at  times  pathet- 
ically upon  the  grave  problems  confronting  them,  must 
know  more  about  it  than  people  in  the  distant  North, 
without  their  means  of  information.    The  negroes  who 


THE   CAKEWALK  117 

waited  on  them  at  the  hotel  seemed  happy  enough,  and 
the  teachers  whom  they  had  met  at  the  mission  school 
had  been  well-dressed,  well-mannered,  and  apparently 
content  with  their  position  in  life.  Surely  a  people 
who  made  no  comj^laints  could  not  be  very  much 
oppressed. 

In  order  to  give  the  visitors,  ere  they  left  Welling- 
ton, a  pleasing  impression  of  Southern  customs,  and 
particularly  of  the  joyous,  happy-go-lucky  disposition 
of  the  Southern  darky  and  his  entire  contentment  with 
existing  conditions,  it  was  decided  by  the  hotel  manage- 
ment to  treat  them,  on  the  last  night  of  their  visit,  to 
a  little  diversion,  in  the  shape  of  a  genuine  negro  cake- 
walk. 

On  the  afternoon  of  this  same  day  Tom  Delamere 
strolled  into  the  hotel,  and  soon  gravitated  to  the 
bar,  where  he  was  a  frequent  visitor.  Young  men  of 
leisure  spent  much  of  their  time  around  the  hotel,  and 
no  small  part  of  it  in  the  bar.  Delamere  had  been  to 
the  club,  but  had  avoided  the  card-room.  Time  hang- 
ing heavy  on  his  hands,  he  had  sought  the  hotel  in 
the  hope  that  some  form  of  distraction  might  present 
itself. 

"  Have  you  heard  the  latest,  Mr.  Delamere  ?  "  asked 
the  bartender,  as  he  mixed  a  cocktail  for  his  customer. 

"  No,  Billy  ;  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  There  's  to  be  a  big  Cakewalk  upstairs  to-night. 
The  No'the'n  gentlemen  an'  ladies  who  are  down  here 
to  see  about  the  new  cotton  fact'ry  want  to  study  the 
nigger  some  more,  and  the  boss  has  got  up  a  Cakewalk 
for  'em,  'mongst  the  waiters  and  chambermaids,  with 
a  little  outside  talent." 

"  Is  it  to  be  public  ?  "  asked  Delamere. 

"  Oh,  no,  not  generally,  but  friends  of  the  house 


118  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

won't  be  barred  out.  The  clerk  '11  fix  it  for  you. 
Ransom,  the  head  waiter,  will  be  floor  manager." 

Delamere  was  struck  with  a  brilliant  idea.  The 
more  he  considered  it,  the  brighter  it  seemed.  Another 
cocktail  imparted  additional  brilliancy  to  the  concep- 
tion. He  had  been  trying,  after  a  feeble  fashion,  to 
keep  his  promise  to  Clara,  and  was  really  suffering 
from  lack  of  excitement. 

He  left  the  bar-room,  found  the  head  waiter,  held 
with  him  a  short  conversation,  and  left  in  his  intelli- 
gent and  itching  palm  a  piece  of  money. 

The  Cakewalk  was  a  great  success.  The  most  bril- 
liant performer  was  a  late  arrival,  who  made  his  appear- 
ance just  as  the  performance  was  about  to  commence. 
The  newcomer  was  dressed  strikingly,  the  conspicuous 
features  of  his  attire  being  a  long  blue  coat  with  brass 
buttons  and  a  pair  of  plaid  trousers.  He  was  older, 
too,  than  the  other  participants,  which  made  his  agility 
the  more  remarkable.  His  partner  was  a  new  chamber- 
maid, who  had  just  come  to  town,  and  whom  the  head 
waiter  introduced  to  the  newcomer  upon  his  arrival. 
The  cake  was  awarded  to  this  couple  by  a  unanimous 
vote.  The  man  presented  it  to  his  partner  with  a 
grandiloquent  flourish,  and  returned  thanks  in  a  speech 
which  sent  the  Northern  visitors  into  spasms  of  delight 
at  the  quaintness  of  the  darky  dialect  and  the  darky 
wit.  To  cap  the  climax,  the  winner  danced  a  buck 
dance  with  a  skill  and  agility  that  brought  a  shower 
of  complimentary  silver,  which  he  gathered  up  and 
passed  to  the  head  waiter. 

Ellis  was  off  duty  for  the  evening.  Not  having  ven- 
tured to  put  in  an  appearance  at  Carteret's  since  his 
last  rebuff,  he  found  himself  burdened  with  a  superflu- 
ity of  leisure,  from  which  he  essayed  to  find  relief  by 


THE   CAKEWALK  119 

dropping  into  the  hotel  office  at  about  nine  o'clock. 
He  was  invited  up  to  see  the  cakewalk,  which  he  rather 
enjoyed,  for  there  was  some  graceful  dancing  and  pos- 
turing. But  the  grotesque  contortions  of  one  partici- 
pant had  struck  him  as  somewhat  overdone,  even  for 
the  comical  type  of  negro.  He  recognized  the  fellow, 
after  a  few  minutes'  scrutiny,  as  the  body-servant  of 
old  Mr.  Delamere.  The  man's  j^resent  occupation,  or 
choice  of  diversion,  seemed  out  of  keeping  with  his 
employment  as  attendant  upon  an  invalid  old  gentle- 
man, and  strangely  inconsistent  with  the  gravity  and 
decorum  which  had  been  so  noticeable  when  this  agile 
cakewalker  had  served  as  butler  at  Major  Carteret's 
table,  upon  the  occasion  of  the  christening  dinner. 
There  was  a  vague  suggestion  of  unreality  about  this 
performance,  too,  which  Ellis  did  not  attempt  to  ana- 
lyze, but  which  recurred  vividly  to  his  memory  upon  a 
subsequent  occasion. 

Ellis  had  never  pretended  to  that  intimate  knowledge 
of  negro  thought  and  character  by  which  some  of  his 
acquaintances  claimed  the  ability  to  fathom  every 
motive  of  a  negro's  conduct,  and  predict  in  advance 
what  any  one  of  the  darker  race  would  do  under  a  given 
set  of  circumstances.  He  would  not  have  believed  that 
a  white  man  could  possess  two  so  widely  varying  phases 
of  character  ;  but  as  to  negroes,  they  were  as  yet  a 
crude  and  undeveloped  race,  and  it  w^as  not  safe  to 
make  predictions  concerning  them.  No  one  could  tell 
at  w^hat  moment  the  thin  veneer  of  civilization  might 
peel  off  and  reveal  the  underlying  savage. 

The  champion  cakewalker,  much  to  the  surprise  of 
his  sable  companions,  who  were  about  equally  swayed 
by  admiration  and  jealousy,  disappeared  immediately 
after  the  close  of  the  performance.     An}^  one  watching 


120  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

him  on  his  way  home  through  the  quiet  streets  to  old 
Mr.  Delamere's  would  have  seen  him  now  and  then 
shaking  with  laughter.  It  had  been  excellent  fun. 
Nevertheless,  as  he  neared  home,  a  certain  aspect  of 
the  affair,  hitherto  unconsidered,  occurred  to  him,  and 
it  was  in  a  rather  serious  frame  of  mind  that  he  cau- 
tiously entered  the  house  and  sought  his  own  room. 

The  Cakewalk  had  results  which  to  Sandy  were  very 
serious.  The  following  week  he  was  summoned  before 
the  disciplinary  committee  of  his  church  and  charged 
with  unchristian  conduct,  in  the  following  particulars, 
to  wit :  dancing,  and  participating  in  a  sinful  diver- 
sion called  a  cakewalk,  which  was  calculated  to  bring 
the  church  into  disrepute  and  make  it  the  mockery  of 
sinners. 

Sandy  protested  his  innocence  vehemently,  but  in 
vain.  The  proof  was  overwhelming.  He  was  positively 
identified  by  Sister  'Manda  Patterson,  the  hotel  cook, 
who  had  watched  the  whole  performance  from  the  hotel 
corridor  for  the  sole,  single,  solitary,  and  only  purpose, 
she  averred,  of  seeing  how  far  human  wickedness  could 
be  carried  by  a  professing  Christian.  The  whole  thing 
had  been  shocking  and  offensive  to  her,  and  only  a  stern 
sense  of  duty  had  sustained  her  in  looking  on,  that  she 
might  be  qualified  to  bear  witness  against  the  offender. 
She  had  recognized  his  face,  his  clothes,  his  voice,  his 
walk  —  there  could  be  no  shadow  of  doubt  that  it  was 
Brother  Sandy.  This  testimony  was  confirmed  by 
one  of  the  deacons,  whose  son,  a  waiter  at  the  hotel, 
had  also  seen  Sandy  at  the  cakewalk. 

Sandy  stoutly  insisted  that  he  was  at  home  the 
whole  evening  ;  that  he  had  not  been  near  the  hotel 
for  three  months ;  that  he  had  never  in  his  life  taken 


THE   CAKEWALK  121 

part  in  a  Cakewalk,  and  that  he  did  not  know  how  to 
dance.  It  was  replied  that  wickedness,  like  everj^- 
thing  else,  must  have  a  beginning ;  that  dancing  was 
an  art  that  could  be  acquired  in  secret,  and  came 
natural  to  some  people.  In  the  face  of  positive  proof, 
Sandy's  protestations  were  of  no  avail ;  he  was  found 
guilty,  and  suspended  from  church  fellowship  until 
he  should  have  repented  and  made  full  confession. 

Sturdily  refusing  to  confess  a  fault  of  which  he 
claimed  to  be  innocent,  Sandy  remained  in  contumacy, 
thereby  falling  somewhat  into  disrepute  among  the 
members  of  his  church,  the  largest  in  the  city.  The 
effect  of  a  bad  reputation  being  subjective  as  well  as 
objective,  and  poor  human  nature  arguing  that  one 
may  as  well  have  the  game  as  the  name,  Sandy  in- 
sensibly glided  into  habits  of  which  the  church  would 
not  have  approved,  though  he  took  care  that  they 
should  not  interfere  with  his  duties  to  Mr.  Delamere. 
The  consolation  thus  afforded,  however,  followed  as  it 
was  by  remorse  of  conscience,  did  not  compensate  him 
for  the  loss  of  standing  in  the  church,  which  to  him 
was  a  social  club  as  well  as  a  religious  temple.  At 
times,  in  conversation  with  young  Delamere,  he  would 
lament  his  hard  fate. 

Tom  laughed  until  he  cried  at  the  comical  idea 
which  Sandy's  plaint  always  brought  up,  of  half-a= 
dozen  negro  preachers  sitting  in  solemn  judgment 
upon  that  Cakewalk,  —  it  had  certainly  been  a  good 
Cakewalk !  —  and  sending  poor  Sandy  to  spiritual 
Coventry. 

"  Cheer  up,  Sandy,  cheer  up  !  "  he  would  say  when 
Sandy  seemed  most  depressed.  "  Go  into  my  room 
and  get  yourself  a  good  drink  of  liquor.  The  devil's 
church  has  a  bisfoer  cono:reo:ation  than  theirs,  and  we 


122  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

have  the  consolation  of  knowing  that  when  we  die, 
we  '11  meet  all  our  friends  on  the  other  side.  Brace 
up,  Sandy,  and  be  a  man,  or,  if  you  can't  be  a  man, 
be  as  near  a  man  as  you  can  !  " 

Hoping  to  revive  his  drooping  spirits,  Sandy  too 
often  accepted  the  proffered  remedy. 


XIV 

THE   MAUKDERINGS    OF   OLD   3IES.    OCHILTREE 

When  Mrs.  Carteret  had  fully  recovered  from  the 
shock  attendant  upon  the  accident  at  the  window, 
where  little  Dodie  had  so  narrowly  escaped  death  or 
serious  injury,  she  ordered  her  carriage  one  afternoon 
and  directed  the  coachman  to  drive  her  to  Mrs. 
Ochiltree's. 

Mrs.  Carteret  had  discharged  her  young  nurse  only 
the  day  before,  and  had  sent  for  Mammy  Jane,  who 
was  now  recovered  from  her  rheumatism,  to  stay  until 
she  could  find  another  girl.  The  nurse  had  been 
ordered  not  to  take  the  child  to  negroes'  houses.  Yes- 
terday, in  driving  past  the  old  homestead  of  her 
husband's  family,  now  occupied  by  Dr.  Miller  and 
his  family,  Mrs.  Carteret  had  seen  her  own  baby's 
carriage  standing  in  the  yard. 

When  the  nurse  returned  home,  she  was  immedi- 
ately discharged.  She  offered  some  sort  of  explana- 
tion, to  the  effect  that  her  sister  worked  for  Mrs. 
Miller,  and  that  some  family  matter  had  rendered  it 
necessary  for  her  to  see  her  sister.  The  explanation 
only  aggravated  the  offense :  if  Mrs.  Carteret  could 
have  overlooked  the  disobedience,  she  would  by  no 
means  have  retained  in  her  employment  a  servant 
whose  sister  worked  for  the  Miller  woman. 

Old  Mrs.  Ochiltree  had  within  a  few  months  begfun 
to  show  signs  of  breaking  up.      She  was  over  seventy 


124  THE  MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

years  old,  and  had  been  of  late,  by  various  afflictions, 
confined  to  the  house  much  of  the  time.  More  than 
once  within  the  year,  Mrs.  Carteret  had  asked  her 
aunt  to  come  and  live  with  her ;  but  Mrs.  Ochiltree, 
who  would  have  regarded  such  a  step  as  an  acknow- 
ledgment of  weakness,  preferred  her  lonely  independ- 
ence. She  resided  in  a  small,  old-fashioned  house, 
standing  back  in  the  middle  of  a  garden  on  a  quiet 
street.  Two  old  servants  made  up  her  modest  house- 
hold. 

This  refusal  to  live  with  her  niece  had  been  lightly 
borne,  for  Mrs.  Ochiltree  was  a  woman  of  stronsf  in- 
dividuality,  whose  comments  upon  her  acquaintance, 
present  or  absent,  were  marked  by  a  frankness  at 
times  no  less  than  startling.  This  characteristic  caused 
her  to  be  more  or  less  avoided.  Mrs.  Ochiltree  was 
aware  of  this  sentiment  on  the  part  of  her  acquaint- 
ance, and  rather  exulted  in  it.  She  hated  fools.  Only 
fools  ran  away  from  her,  and  that  because  they  were 
afraid  she  would  expose  their  folly.  If  most  people 
were  fools,  it  was  no  fault  of  hers,  and  she  was  not 
obliged  to  indulge  them  by  pretending  to  believe  that 
they  knew  anything.  She  had  once  owned  consid- 
erable property,  but  was  reticent  about  her  affairs, 
and  told  no  one  how  much  she  was  worth,  though  it 
was  supposed  that  she  had  considerable  ready  money, 
besides  her  house  and  some  other  real  estate.  Mrs. 
Carteret  was  her  nearest  living  relative,  though  her 
grand-nephew  Tom  Delamere  had  been  a  great  favor- 
ite with  her.  If  she  did  not  spare  him  her  tongue- 
lashings,  it  was  nevertheless  expected  in  the  family 
that  she  would  leave  him  something'  handsome  in  her 
will. 

Mrs.  Ochiltree  had  shared  in  the  general  rejoicing 


MAUNDERINGS  OF  OLD  MRS.   OCHILTREE    125 

upon  the  advent  of  the  Carteret  baby.  She  had  been 
one  of  his  godmothers,  and  had  hinted  at  certain  in- 
tentions held  by  her  concerning  him.  During  Mammy 
Jane's  administration  she  had  tried  the  old  nurse's 
patience  more  or  less  by  her  dictatorial  interference. 
Since  her  partial  confinement  to  the  house,  she  had 
gone,  when  her  health  and  the  weather  would  permit, 
to  see  the  child,  and  at  other  times  had  insisted  that 
it  be  sent  to  her  in  charge  of  the  nurse  at  least  every 
other  day. 

Mrs.  Ochiltree's  faculties  had  shared  insensibly  in 
the  decline  of  her  health.  This  weakness  manifested 
itself  by  fits  of  absent-mindedness,  in  which  she  would 
seemingly  lose  connection  with  the  present,  and  live 
over  again,  in  imagination,  the  earlier  years  of  her 
life.  She  had  buried  two  husbands,  had  tried  in 
vain  to  secure  a  third,  and  had  never  borne  any  chil- 
dren. Long  ago  she  had  petrified  into  a  character 
which  nothing  under  heaven  could  change,  and  which, 
if  death  is  to  take  us  as  it  finds  us,  and  the  future 
life  to  keep  us  as  it  takes  us,  promised  anything  but 
eternal  felicity  to  those  with  whom  she  might  associate 
after  this  life.  Tom  Delamere  had  been  heard  to  say, 
profanely,  that  if  his  Aunt  Polly  went  to  heaven,  he 
would  let  his  mansion  in  the  skies  on  a  long  lease,  at 
a  low  figure. 

When  the  carriage  drove  up  with  Mrs.  Carteret, 
her  aunt  was  seated  on  the  little  front  piazza,  with 
her  wrinkled  hands  folded  in  her  lap,  dozing  the  after- 
noon away  in  fitful  slumber. 

"  Tie  the  horse,  William,"  said  Mrs.  Carteret,  "and 
then  go  in  and  wake  Aunt  Polly,  and  tell  her  I  want 
her  to  come  and  drive  with  me." 

Mrs.   Ochiltree  had  not  observed  her  niece's  ap- 


126  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

proacli,  nor  did  slie  look  up  when  WiUiam  drew  near. 
Her  eyes  were  closed,  and  she  would  let  her  head  sink 
slowly  forward,  recovering  it  now  and  then  with  a 
spasmodic  jerk. 

"  Colonel  Ochiltree,"  she  muttered,  "  was  shot  at 
the  battle  of  Culpepper  Court  House,  and  left  me  a 
widow  for  the  second  time.  But  I  would  not  have 
married  any  man  on  earth  after  him." 

"  Mis'  Ochiltree  !  "  cried  William,  raising  his  voice, 
"  oh,  Mis'  Ochiltree  !  " 

"  If  I  had  found  a  man,  —  a  real  man,  —  I  might 
have  married  again.  I  did  not  care  for  weaklings. 
I  could  have  married  John  Delamere  if  I  had  wanted 
him.     But  pshaw  !    I  could  have  wound  him  round  " — 

*'  Go  round  to  the  kitchen,  William,"  interrupted 
Mrs.  Carteret  impatiently,  "  and  tell  Aunt  Dinah  to 
come  and  wake  her  up." 

William  returned  in  a  few  moments  with  a  fat, 
comfortable  looking  black  woman,  who  curtsied  to 
Mrs.  Carteret  at  the  gate,  and  then  going  up  to  her 
mistress  seized  her  by  the  shoulder  and  shook  her 
vigorously. 

"  Wake  up  dere.  Mis'  Polly,"  she  screamed,  as 
harshly  as  her  mellow  voice  would  permit.  "  Mis' 
'Livy  wants  you  ter  go  drivin'  wid  'er  !  " 

"  Dinah,"  exclaimed  the  old  lady,  sitting  suddenly 
upright  with  a  defiant  assumption  of  wakefulness, 
"  why  do  you  take  so  long  to  come  when  I  call  ? 
Bring  me  my  bonnet  and  shawl.  Don't  you  see  my 
niece  waiting  for  me  at  the  gate  ?  " 

"  Hyuh  dey  is,  hyuh  dey  is  !  "  returned  Dinah, 
producing  the  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  assisting  Mrs. 
Ochiltree  to  put  them  on. 

Leaning   on   William's   arm,    the   old   lady   went 


MAUNDEKINGS  OF  OLD   MRS.   OCHILTREE    127 

slowly  down  the  walk,  and  was  handed  to  the  rear 
seat  with  Mrs.  Carteret. 

*'  How  's  the  baby  to-day,  Olivia,  and  why  did  n't 
you  bring  him  ?  " 

"  He  has  a  cold  to-day,  and  is  a  little  hoarse,"  re- 
plied Mrs.  Carteret,  "  so  I  thought  it  best  not  to  bring 
him  out.  Drive  out  the  Weldon  road,  William,  and 
back  by  Pine  Street." 

The  drive  led  past  an  eminence  crowned  by  a  hand- 
some brick  building  of  modern  construction,  evidently 
an  institution  of  some  kind,  surrounded  on  three  sides 
by  a  grove  of  venerable  oaks. 

"  Hugh  Poindexter,"  Mrs.  Ochiltree  exclaimed  ex- 
plosively, after  a  considerable  silence,  "  has  been  build- 
ing a  new  house,  in  place  of  the  old  family  mansion 
burned  during  the  war." 

"  It  is  n't  Mr.  Poindexter's  house.  Aunt  Polly. 
That  is  the  new  colored  hospital  built  by  the  colored 
doctor." 

"  The  new  colored  hospital,  indeed,  and  the  colored 
doctor !  Before  the  war  the  negroes  were  all  healthy, 
and  when  they  got  sick  we  took  care  of  them  our- 
selves !  Hugh  Poindexter  has  sold  the  graves  of  his 
ancestors  to  a  negro,  —  I  should  have  starved  first !  " 

"  He  had  his  grandfather's  grave  opened,  and  there 
was  nothing  to  remove,  except  a  few  bits  of  heart-pine 
from  the  coffin.  All  the  rest  had  crumbled  into 
dust." 

"  And  he  sold  the  dust  to  a  negro  !  The  world  is 
upside  down." 

"  He  had  the  tombstone  transferred  to  the  white 
cemetery,  Aunt  Polly,  and  he  has  moved  away." 

"Esau  sold  his  birthright  for  a  mess  of  pottage. 
When  I  die,  if  you  outlive  me,  Olivia,  which  is  not 


128  THE  MAEROW  OF  TRADITION 

likely,  I  shall  leave  my  house  and  land  to  this  child ! 
He  is  a  Carteret,  —  he  would  never  sell  them  to  a 
negro.     I  can't  trust  Tom  Delamere,  I  'm  afraid." 

The  carriage  had  skirted  the  hill,  passing  to  the 
rear  of  the  new  building. 

"  Turn  to  the  right,  William,"  ordered  Mrs.  Car- 
teret, addressing  the  coachman,  "  and  come  back  past 
the  other  side  of  the  hospital." 

A  turn  to  the  right  into  another  road  soon  brought 
them  to  the  front  of  the  building,  which  stood  slightly 
back  from  the  street,  with  no  intervening  fence  or 
inclosure.  A  sorrel  pony  in  a  light  buggy  was  fastened 
to  a  hitching-post  near  the  entrance.  As  they  drove 
past,  a  lady  came  out  of  the  front  door  and  descended 
the  steps,  holding  by  the  hand  a  very  pretty  child 
about  six  years  old. 

"  Who  is  that  woman,  Olivia  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Ochil- 
tree abruptly,  with  signs  of  agitation. 

The  lady  coming  down  the  steps  darted  at  the  ap- 
proaching carriage  a  look  which  lingered  involun- 
tarily. 

Mrs.  Carteret,  perceiving  this  glance,  turned  away 
coldly. 

With  a  sudden  hardening  of  her  own  features  the 
other  woman  lifted  the  little  boy  into  the  buggy  and 
drove  sharply  away  in  the  direction  opposite  to  that 
taken  by  Mrs.  Carteret's  carriage. 

"  Who  is  that  woman,  Olivia  ?  "  repeated  Mrs. 
Ochiltree,  with  marked  emotion. 

"  I  have  not  the  honor  of  her  acquaintance,"  re- 
turned Mrs.  Carteret  sharply.  "  Drive  faster,  Wil- 
liam." 

"  I  want  to  know  who  that  woman  is,"  persisted 
Mrs.  Ochiltree  querulously.      "  William,"  she  cried 


MAUNDERINGS  OF  OLD   MRS.  OCHILTREE    129 

shrilly,  poking  the  coachman  in  the  back  with  the  end 
of  her  cane,  "  who  is  that  woman  ?  " 

"  Dat  's  Mis'  Miller,  ma'am,"  returned  the  coach- 
man, touching  his  hat ;  "  Doctuh  Miller's  wife." 

"  What  was  her  mother's  name  ?  " 

"Her  mother's  name  wuz  Julia  Brown.  She 's  be'n 
dead  dese  twenty  years  er  mo'.  Why,  you  knowed 
Julia,  Mis'  Polly !  —  she  used  ter  b'long  ter  yo'  own 
father  befo'  de  wah ;  an'  after  de  wah  she  kep'  house 
fer  "  — 

"  Look  to  your  horses,  William !  "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Carteret  sharply. 

"  It 's  that  hussy's  child,"  said  Mrs.  Ochiltree,  turn- 
ing to  her  niece  with  great  excitement.  "  When  your 
father  died,  I  turned  the  mother  and  the  child  out 
into  the  street.  The  mother  died  and  went  to  —  the 
place  provided  for  such  as  she.  If  I  had  n't  been  just 
in  time,  Olivia,  they  would  have  turned  you  out.  I 
saved  the  property  for  you  and  your  son  !  You  can 
thank  me  for  it  all !  " 

"  Hush,  Aunt  Polly,  for  goodness'  sake  !  William 
will  hear  you.    Tell  me  about  it  when  you  get  home." 

Mrs.  Ochiltree  was  silent,  except  for  a  few  inco- 
herent mumblings.  What  she  might  say,  what  dis- 
tressing family  secret  she  might  repeat  in  William's 
hearing,  should  she  take  another  talkative  turn,  was 
beyond  conjecture. 

Olivia  looked  anxiously  around  for  something  to 
distract  her  aunt's  attention,  and  caught  sight  of  a 
colored  man,  dressed  in  sober  gray,  who  was  coming 
toward  the  carriage. 

"  There 's  Mr.  Delamere's  Sandy  I  "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Carteret,  touching  her  aunt  on  the  arm.  "  I  wonder 
how  his  master  is  ?     Sandy,  oh,  Sandy !  " 


130  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

Sandy  approached  the  carriage,  lifting  his  hat  with 
a  slight  exaggeration  of  Chesterfieldian  elegance. 
Sandy,  no  less  than  his  master,  was  a  survival  of  an 
interesting  type.  He  had  inherited  the  feudal  defer- 
ence for  his  superiors  in  position,  joined  to  a  certain 
self-respect  which  saved  him  from  sycophancy.  His 
manners  had  been  formed  upon  those  of  old  Mr.  Dela- 
mere,  and  were  not  a  bad  imitation  ;  for  in  the  man, 
as  in  the  master,  they  were  the  harmonious  reflection 
of  a  mental  state. 

"  How  is  Mr.  Delamere,  Sandy  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Car- 
teret, acknowledging  Sandy's  salutation  with  a  nod 
and  a  smile. 

"  He  ain't  ez  peart  ez  he  has  be'n,  ma'am,"  replied 
Sandy,  "  but  he  's  doin'  tol'able  well.  De  doctuh  say 
he  's  good  fer  a  dozen  years  yit,  ef  he  '11  jes'  take  good 
keer  of  hisse'f  an'  keep  f 'm  gittin'  excited ;  fer  sence 
dat  secon'  stroke,  excitement  is  dange'ous  fer  'im." 

"  I  'm  sure  j^ou  take  the  best  care  of  him,"  returned 
Mrs.  Carteret  kindly. 

"You  can't  do  anything  for  him,  Sandy,"  inter- 
posed old  Mrs.  Ochiltree,  shaking  her  head  slowly  to 
emphasize  her  dissent.  "  All  the  doctors  in  creation 
could  n't  keep  him  alive  another  year.  I  shall  outlive 
him  by  twenty  years,  though  we  are  not  far  from  the 
same  age." 

"  Lawd,  ma'am  ! "  exclaimed  Sandy,  lifting  his 
hands  in  affected  amazement,  —  his  study  of  gentle 
manners  had  been  more  than  superficial,  —  "  whoever 
would  'a'  s'picion'  dat  you  an'  Mars  John  wuz  nigh 
de  same  age  ?  I  'd  'a'  'lowed  you  wuz  ten  years 
younger  'n  him,  eas}^,  ef  you  wuz  a  day  !  " 

"  Give  my  compliments  to  the  poor  old  gentleman," 
returned  Mrs.  Ochiltree,  with  a  simper  of  senile  van- 


MAUXDERIXGS   OF  OLD   MRS.   OCHILTREE     131 

ity,  though  her  back  was  weakening  under  the  strain 
of  the  effort  to  sit  erect  that  she  might  maintain  this 
iUusion  of  comparative  youthfulness.  "  Bring  him  to 
see  me  some  clay  when  he  is  able  to  walk." 

"  Yas  'm,  I  will,"  rejoined  Sand3^  "  He  's  gwane 
out  ter  Belleview  nex'  week,  fer  ter  stay  a  mont'  er 
so,  but  I  '11  fetch  him  'roun'  w'en  he  comes  back.  I  '11 
tell  'im  dat  you  ladies  'quired  fer  'im." 

Sandy  made  another  deep  bow,  and  held  his  hat  in 
his  hand  until  the  carriage  had  moved  away.  He  had 
not  condescended  to  notice  the  coachman  at  all,  who 
was  one  of  the  young  negroes  of  the  new  generation ; 
while  Sandy  regarded  himself  as  belonging  to  the 
quality,  and  seldom  stooped  to  notice  those  beneath 
him.  It  would  not  have  been  becoming  in  him, 
either,  while  conversing  with  white  ladies,  to  have 
noticed  a  colored  servant.  Moreover,  the  coachman 
was  a  Baptist,  while  Sandy  was  a  Methodist,  though 
under  a  cloud,  and  considered  a  Methodist  in  poor 
standing  as  better  than  a  Baptist  of  any  degree  of 
sanctity. 

"  Lawd,  Lawd  I  "  chuckled  Sandy,  after  the  car- 
riage had  departed,  "  I  never  seed  nothin'  lack  de 
way  dat  ole  lady  do  keep  up  her  temper  !  Wid  one 
foot  in  de  grave,  an'  de  other  hov'rin'  on  de  edge,  she 
talks  'bout  my  ole  marster  lack  he  wuz  in  his  secon' 
chil'hood.  But  I  'm  jes'  willin'  ter  bet  dat  he  '11  out- 
las'  her !  She  ain't  half  de  woman  she  wuz  dat  nicfht 
I  waited  on  de  table  at  de  christen  in'  pa'ty,  w'en  she 
'lowed  she  wuz  n'  feared  er  no  man  livin'," 


XV 

MRS.  CARTERET  SEEKS  AN  EXPLANATION 

As  a  stone  dropped  into  a  pool  of  water  sets  in 
motion  a  series  of  concentric  circles  which  disturb  the 
whole  mass  in  varying  degree,  so  Mrs.  Ochiltree's 
enigmatical  remark  had  started  in  her  niece's  mind 
a  disturbing  train  of  thought.  Had  her  words,  Mrs. 
Carteret  asked  herself,  any  serious  meaning,  or  were 
they  the  mere  empty  babblings  of  a  clouded  intellect? 

"  William,"  she  said  to  the  coachman  when  they 
reached  Mrs.  Ochiltree's  house,  "you  may  tie  the 
horse  and  help  us  out.     I  shall  be  here  a  little  while." 

William  helped  the  ladies  down,  assisted  Mrs. 
Ochiltree  into  the  house,  and  then  went  round  to  the 
kitchen.  Dinah  was  an  excellent  hand  at  potato-pone 
and  other  culinary  delicacies  dear  to  the  Southern 
heart,  and  William  was  a  welcome  visitor  in  her 
domain. 

"  Now,  Aunt  Polly,"  said  Mrs.  Carteret  resolutely, 
as  soon  as  they  were  alone,  "  I  want  to  know  what 
you  meant  by  what  you  said  about  my  father  and 
Julia,  and  this  —  this  child  of  hers  ?  " 

The  old  woman  smiled  cunningly,  but  her  expres- 
sion soon  changed  to  one  more  grave. 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  know  ? "  she  asked  sus- 
piciously. "  You  've  got  the  land,  the  houses,  and  the 
money.  You  've  nothing  to  complain  of.  Enjoy 
yourself,  and  be  thankful !  " 


MRS.   CARTERET   SEEKS  AN  EXPLANATION    133 

"  I  'm  thankful  to  God,"  returned  Olivia,  "  for  all 
his  good  gifts,  —  and  He  has  blessed  me  abundantly, 
—  but  why  should  I  be  thankful  to  you  for  the 
proj^erty  my  father  left  me  ?  " 

"  Why  should  you  be  thankful  to  me  ?  "  rejoined 
Mrs.  Ochiltree  with  querulous  indignation.  "  You  'd 
better  ask  why  should  nt  you  be  thankful  to  me. 
What  have  I  not  done  for  you?  " 

"  Yes,  Aunt  Polly,  I  know  you  've  done  a  great 
deal.  You  reared  me  in  your  own  house  when  I  had 
been  cast  out  of  my  fatlier's ;  you  have  been  a  second 
mother  to  me,  and  I  am  very  grateful,  —  you  can 
never  say  that  I  have  not  shown  my  gratitude.  But 
if  you  have  done  anything  else  for  me,  I  wish  to  know 
it.     Why  should  I  thank  you  for  my  inheritance?  " 

"  Why  should  you  thank  me  ?  Well,  because  I 
drove  that  woman  and  her  brat  away." 

"  But  she  had  no  right  to  stay,  Aunt  Polly,  after 
father  died.  Of  course  she  had  no  moral  right  before, 
but  it  was  his  house,  and  he  could  keep  her  there  if 
he  chose.  But  after  his  death  she  surely  had  no 
right." 

"  Perhaps  not  so  surely  as  you  think,  —  if  she  had 
not  been  a  negro.  Had  she  been  white,  there  might 
have  been  a  difference.  When  I  told  her  to  go,  she 
said  "  — 

"  What  did  she  say,  Aunt  Polly,"  demanded  Olivia 
eagerly. 

It  seemed  for  a  moment  as  though  Mrs.  Ochiltree 
would  speak  no  further :  but  her  once  strong  will, 
now  weakened  by  her  bodily  infirmities,  yielded  to  the 
influence  of  her  niece's  imperious  demand. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  the  whole  story,"  she  said,  "  and  then 
you  '11  know  what  I  did  for  you  and  yours," 


134  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

Mrs.  Ochiltree's  eyes  assumed  an  introspective  ex- 
pression, and  her  story,  as  it  advanced,  became  as 
keenly  dramatic  as  though  memory  had  thrown  aside 
the  veil  of  intervening  years  and  carried  her  back 
directly  to  the  events  which  she  now  described. 

"  Your  father,"  she  said,  "  while  living  with  that 
woman,  left  home  one  morning  the  picture  of  health. 
Five  minutes  later  he  tottered  into  the  house  groaning 
with  pain,  stricken  unto  death  by  the  hand  of  a  just 
God,  as  a  punishment  for  his  sins." 

Olivia  gave  a  start  of  indignation,  but  restrained 
herself. 

"  I  was  at  once  informed  of  what  had  happened, 
for  I  had  means  of  knowing  all  that  took  place  in  the 
household.  Old  Jane  —  she  was  younger  then  — 
had  come  with  you  to  my  house  ;  but  her  daughter 
remained,  and  through  her  I  learned  all  that  went  on. 

"  I  hastened  immediately  to  the  house,  entered 
without  knocking,  and  approached  Mr.  Merkell's  bed- 
room, which  was  on  the  lower  floor  and  opened  into 
the  hall.  The  door  was  ajar,  and  as  I  stood  there 
for  a  moment  I  heard  your  father's  voice. 

"  '  Listen,  Julia,'  he  was  saying.  '  I  shall  not  live 
until  the  doctor  comes.  But  I  wish  j^ou  to  know, 
dear  Julia !  '  —  he  called  her  '  dear  Julia ! '  — '  before 
I  die,  that  I  have  kept  my  promise.  You  did  me  one 
great  service,  Julia,  —  you  saved  me  from  Polly 
Ochiltree  ! '  Yes,  Olivia,  that  is  what  he  said  !  '  You 
have  served  me  faithfully  and  well,  and  I  owe  you  a 
great  deal,  which  I  have  tried  to  pay.' 

" '  Oh,  Mr.  Merkell,  dear  Mr.  Merkell,'  cried  the 
hypocritical  hussy,  falling  to  her  knees  by  his  bedside, 
and  shedding  her  crocodile  tears,  '  you  owe  me  no- 
thing.    You  have  done  more  for  me  than  I  could  ever 


MRS.   CARTERET  SEEKS  AX  EXPLANATION    135 

repay.  You  will  not  die  and  leave  me,  —  no,  no,  it 
cannot  be ! ' 

"  '  Yes,  I  am  going  to  die,  —  I  am  dying  now,  Julia. 
But  listen,  —  compose  yourself  and  listen,  for  this  is 
a  more  important  matter.  Take  the  keys  from  under 
my  pillow,  open  the  desk  in  the  next  room,  look  in  the 
second  drawer  on  the  right,  and  you  will  find  an  en- 
velope containing  three  papers :  one  of  them  is  yours, 
one  is  the  paper  I  promised  to  make,  and  the  third 
is  a  letter  which  I  wrote  last  night.  As  soon  as  the 
breath  has  left  my  body,  deliver  the  envelope  to  the 
address  indorsed  upon  it.  Do  not  delay  one  moment, 
or  you  may  live  to  regret  it.  Say  nothing  until  you 
have  delivered  the  package,  and  then  be  guided  by 
the  advice  which  you  receive,  —  it  will  come  from  a 
friend  of  mine  who  will  not  see  you  wronged.' 

"  I  slipped  away  from  the  door  without  making  my 
presence  known  and  entered,  by  a  door  from  the  hall, 
the  room  adjoining  the  one  where  Mr.  Merkell  lay. 
A  moment  later  there  was  a  loud  scream.  Returning 
quickly  to  the  hall,  I  entered  Mr.  Merkell's  room  as 
though  just  arrived. 

"  '  How  is  Mr.  Merkell  ? '  I  demanded,  as  I  crossed 
the  threshold. 

"  *  He  is  dead,'  sobbed  the  woman,  without  lifting 
her  head,  —  she  had  fallen  on  her  knees  by  the  bedside. 
She  had  good  cause  to  weep,  for  my  time  had  come. 

"  *  Get  up,'  I  said.  '  You  have  no  right  here.  You 
pollute  Mr.  Merkell's  dead  body  by  your  touch. 
Leave  the  house  immediately,  —  your  day  is  over  ! ' 

"  '  I  will  not  I  '  she  cried,  rising  to  her  feet  and 
facing  me  with  brazen-faced  impudence.  '  I  have  a 
right  to  stay,  —  he  has  given  me  the  right  I ' 

"  '  Ha,  ha  I '  I  laughed.     '  Mr.  Merkell  is  dead,  and 


136  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

I  am  mistress  here  henceforth.  Go,  and  go  at  once, 
—  do  j^ou  hear?' 

" '  I  hear,  but  I  shall  not  heed.  I  can  prove  my 
rights  !     I  shall  not  leave  ! ' 

"  '  Very  well,'  I  replied,  '  we  shall  see.  The  law 
will  decide.' 

"I  left  the  room,  but  did  not  leave  the  house.  On 
the  contrary,  I  concealed  myself  where  I  could  see 
what  took  place  in  the  room  adjoining  the  death- 
chamber. 

"  She  entered  the  room  a  moment  later,  with  her 
child  on  one  arm  and  the  keys  in  the  other  hand. 
Placing  the  child  on  the  floor,  she  put  the  ke}'^  in  the 
lock,  and  seemed  surprised  to  find  the  desk  already 
unfastened.  She  opened  the  desk,  picked  up  a  roll  of 
money  and  a  ladies'  watch,  which  first  caught  her  eye, 
and  was  reaching  toward  the  drawer  upon  the  right, 
when  I  interrupted  her  :  — 

" '  Well,  thief,  are  you  trying  to  strip  the  house 
before  you  leave  it  ?  ' 

"  She  gave  an  involuntary  cry,  clasped  one  hand 
to  her  bosom  and  with  the  other  caught  up  her  child, 
and  stood  like  a  wild  beast  at  bay. 

"  '  I  am  not  a  thief,'  she  panted.  '  The  things  are 
mine ! ' 

" '  You  lie,'  I  replied.  '  You  have  no  right  to 
them,  —  no  more  right  than  you  have  to  remain  in 
this  house  !  ' 

"  '  I  have  a  right,'  she  persisted,  '  and  I  can  prove 
It!' 

''  She  turned  toward  the  desk,  seized  the  drawer, 
and  drew  it  open.  Never  shall  I  forget  her  look,  — 
never  shall  I  forget  that  moment ;  it  was  the  happiest 
of  my  life.     The  drawer  was  empty ! 


MRS.  CARTERET  SEEKS  AN  EXPLANATION    137 

"  Pale  as  death  she  turned  and  faced  me. 

*' '  The  papers  I  '  she  shrieked,  '  the  papers  !  JTo?^ 
have  stolen  them  ! ' 

"  '  Papers  ?  '  I  laughed,  '  what  papers  ?  Do  you 
take  me  for  a  thief,  like  yourself  ?  ' 

" '  There  were  papers  here,'  she  cried,  '  only  a 
minute  since.  They  are  mine,  —  give  them  back  to 
me!' 

"  '  Listen,  woman,'  I  said  sternly,  '  you  are  lying  — 
or  dreaming.  My  brother-in-law's  papers  are  doubt- 
less in  his  safe  at  his  office,  where  they  ought  to  be. 
As  for  the  rest,  —  you  are  a  thief.' 

"  '  I  am  not,'  she  screamed  ;  '  I  am  his  wife.  He 
married  me,  and  the  papers  that  were  in  the  desk  will 
prove  it' 

" '  Listen,'  I  exclaimed,  when  she  had  finished,  — 
*  listen  carefully,  and  take  heed  to  what  I  say.  You 
are  a  liar.  You  have  no  proofs,  —  there  never  were 
any  proofs  of  what  you  say,  because  it  never  happened, 
—  it  is  absurd  upon  the  face  of  it.  Not  one  person  in 
Wellington  would  believe  it.  Why  should  he  marry 
you  ?  He  did  not  need  to  !  You  are  merely  lying,  — 
you  are  not  even  self -deceived.  If  he  had  really  mar- 
ried you,  you  would  have  made  it  knowTi  long  ago. 
That  you  did  not  is  proof  that  your  story  is  false.' 

"  She  was  hit  so  hard  that  she  trembled  and  sank 
into  a  chair.  But  I  had  no  mercy  —  she  had  saved 
your  father  from  me  —  '  dear  Julia,'  indeed  ! 

"  '  Stand  up,'  I  ordered.  ^  Do  not  dare  to  sit  down 
in  my  presence.  I  have  you  on  the  hip,  my  lady,  and 
will  teach  you  your  place.' 

"  She  struggled  to  her  feet,  and  stood  supporting 
herself  with  one  hand  on  the  chair.     I  could  have 


138  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

killed  her,  Olivia  !  She  had  been  my  father's  slave  ; 
if  it  had  been  before  the  war,  I  would  have  had  her 
whipped  to  death. 

" '  You  are  a  thief,'  I  said,  '  and  of  that  there  are 
proofs.  I  have  caught  you  in  the  act.  The  watch  in 
your  bosom  is  my  own,  the  money  belongs  to  Mr. 
Merkell's  estate,  which  belongs  to  my  niece,  his  daugh- 
ter Olivia.  I  saw  you  steal  them.  My  word  is  worth 
yours  a  hundred  times  over,  for  I  am  a  lady,  and  you 
are  —  what  ?  And  now  hear  me  :  if  ever  you  breathe 
to  a  living  soul  one  word  of  this  preposterous  story,  I 
will  charge  you  with  the  theft,  and  have  you  sent  to 
the  penitentiary.  Your  child  will  be  taken  from  you, 
and  you  shall  never  see  it  again.  I  will  give  you  now 
just  ten  minutes  to  take  your  brat  and  your  rags  out 
of  this  house  forever.  But  before  you  go,  jDut  down 
your  plunder  there  upon  the  desk !  ' 

"  She  laid  down  the  money  and  the  watch,  and  a 
few  minutes  later  left  the  house  with  the  child  in  her 
arms. 

"  And  now,  Olivia,  you  know  how  I  saved  your 
estate,  and  why  you  should  be  grateful  to  me." 

Olivia  had  listened  to  her  aunt's  story  with  intense 
interest.  Having  perceived  the  old  woman's  mood, 
and  fearful  lest  any  interruption  might  break  the  flow 
of  her  narrative,  she  had  with  an  effort  kept  back  the 
one  question  which  had  been  hovering  upon  her  lij^s, 
but  which  could  now  no  longer  be  withheld. 

"  What  became  of  the  papers,  Aunt  Polly  ?  " 

"  Ha,  ha  !  "  chuckled  Mrs.  Ochiltree  with  a  cunning 
look,  "  did  I  not  tell  you  that  she  found  no  papers  ?  " 

A  change  had  come  over  Mrs.  Ochiltree's  face, 
marking  the  reaction  from  her  burst  of  energy.     Her 


MRS.   CARTERET  SEEKS  AN   EXPLANATION    139 

eyes  were  half  closed,  and  slie  was  muttering  incolier- 
ently.  Olivia  made  some  slight  effort  to  arouse  her, 
but  in  vain,  and  realizing  the  futility  of  any  further 
attempt  to  extract  information  from  her  aunt  at  this 
time,  she  called  William  and  drove  homeward. 


XVI 

ELLIS   TAKES   A  TRICK 

Late  one  afternoon  a  handsome  trap,  drawn  by  two 
spirited  bays,  drove  up  to  Carteret's  gate.  Three 
places  were  taken  by  Mrs.  Carteret,  Clara,  and  the 
major,  leaving  the  fourth  seat  vacant. 

"  I  've  asked  Ellis  to  drive  out  with  us,"  said  the 
major,  as  he  took  the  lines  from  the  colored  man  who 
had  the  trap  in  charge.  "  We  '11  go  by  the  office  and 
pick  him  up." 

Clara  frowned,  but  perceiving  Mrs.  Carteret's  eye 
fixed  upon  her,  restrained  any  further  expression  of 
annoyance. 

The  major's  liking  for  Ellis  had  increased  within  the 
year.  The  young  man  was  not  only  a  good  journalist, 
but  possessed  sufficient  cleverness  and  tact  to  make  him 
excellent  company.  The  major  was  fond  of  argument, 
but  extremely  tenacious  of  his  own  opinions.  Ellis 
handled  the  foils  of  discussion  with  just  the  requisite 
skill  to  draw  out  the  major,  permitting  himself  to  be 
vanquished,  not  too  easily,  but,  as  it  were,  inevitably, 
by  the  major's  incontrovertible  arguments. 

Olivia  had  long  suspected  Ellis  of  feeling  a  more 
than  friendly  interest  in  Clara.  Herself  partial  to 
Tom,  she  had  more  than  once  thought  it  hardly  fair  to 
Delamere,  or  even  to  Clara,  who  was  young  and  im- 
pressionable, to  have  another  young  man  constantly 
about  the  house.     True,  there  had   seemed  to  be  no 


ELLIS   TAKES  A  TRICK  141 

great  danger,  for  Ellis  had  neitlier  the  family  nor  the 
means  to  make  him  a  suitable  match  for  the  major's 
sister  ;  nor  had  Clara  made  any  secret  of  her  dislike 
for  Ellis,  or  of  her  resentment  for  his  supposed  depre- 
ciation of  Delamere.  Mrs.  Carteret  was  inclined  to  a 
more  just  and  reasonable  view  of  Ellis's  conduct  in  this 
matter,  but  nevertheless  did  not  deem  it  wise  to  unde- 
ceive Clara.  Dislike  was  a  stout  barrier,  which  remorse 
might  have  broken  down.  The  major,  absorbed  in 
schemes  of  empire  and  dreams  of  his  child's  future, 
had  not  become  cognizant  of  the  affair.  His  wife,  out 
of  friendship  for  Tom,  had  refrained  from  mentioning 
it ;  while  the  major,  with  a  delicate  regard  for  Clara's 
feelings,  had  said  nothing  at  home  in  regard  to  his 
interview  with  her  lover. 

At  the  Chronicle  office  Ellis  took  the  front  seat 
beside  the  major.  After  leaving  the  city  pavements, 
they  bowled  along  merrily  over  an  excellent  toll-road, 
built  of  oyster  shells  from  the  neighboring  sound, 
stopping  at  intervals  to  pay  toll  to  the  gate-keepers, 
most  of  whom  were  white  women  with  tallow  complex- 
ions and  snuff-stained  lips,  —  the  traditional  "  poor- 
white."  For  part  of  the  way  the  road  was  bordered 
with  a  growth  of  scrub  oak  and  pine,  interspersed  with 
stretches  of  cleared  land,  white  with  the  opening  cotton 
or  yellow  with  ripening  corn.  To  the  right,  along 
the  distant  river-bank,  were  visible  here  and  there 
groups  of  turpentine  pines,  though  most  of  this  growth 
had  for  some  years  been  exhausted.  Twenty  years 
before,  Wellington  had  been  the  world's  greatest 
shipping  port  for  naval  stores.  But  as  the  turj^en- 
tine  industry  had  moved  southward,  leaving  a  trail 
of  devastated  forests  in  its  rear,  the  city  had  fallen 
to  a  poor  fifth  or  sixth  place  in  this  trade,  relying 


142  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

now  almost  entirely  upon  cotton  for  its  export  busi- 
ness. 

Occasionally  our  party  passed  a  person,  or  a  group 
of  persons,  —  mostly  negroes  approximating  the  pure 
type,  for  tliose  of  lighter  color  grew  noticeably  scarcer 
as  the  town  was  left  behind.  Now  and  then  one  of 
these  w^ould  salute  the  party  respectfully,  while  others 
glanced  at  them  indifferently  or,  turned  away.  There 
would  have  seemed,  to  a  stranger,  a  lack  of  spontane- 
ous friendliness  between  the  people  of  these  two  races, 
as  though  each  felt  that  it  had  no  part  or  lot  in  the 
other's  life.  At  one  point  the  carriage  drew  near  a 
party  of  colored  folks  who  were  laughing  and  jesting 
among  themselves  with  great  glee.  Paying  no  atten- 
tion to  the  white  people,  they  continued  to  laugh  and 
shout  boisterously  as  the  carriage  swept  by. 

Major  Carteret's  countenance  wore  an  angry  look. 

"  The  negroes  around  this  town  are  becoming  abso- 
lutely insufferable,"  he  averred.  "  They  are  sadly  in 
need  of  a  lesson  in  manners." 

Half  an  hour  later  they  neared  another  group,  who 
were  also  making  merry.  As  the  carriage  approached, 
they  became  mute  and  silent  as  the  grave  until  the 
major's  party  had  passed. 

"  The  negroes  are  a  sullen  race,"  remarked  the 
major  thoughtfully.  "  They  will  learn  their  lesson  in 
a  rude  school,  and  perhaps  much  sooner  than  they 
dream.  By  the  way,"  he  added,  turning  to  the  ladies, 
"  what  was  the  arrangement  with  Tom  ?  Was  he  to 
come  out  this  evening?" 

"  He  came  out  early  in  the  afternoon,"  replied 
Clara,  "  to  go  a-fishing.  He  is  to  join  us  at  the 
hotel." 

After  an  hour's  drive  they  reached  the  hotel,  in 


ELLIS  TAKES  A  TRICK  143 

front  of  which  stretched  the  beach,  white  and  invit- 
ing, along  the  shallow  sound.  Mrs.  Carteret  and 
Clara  found  seats  on  the  veranda.  Having  turned  the 
trap  over  to  a  hostler,  the  major  joined  a  group  of 
gentlemen,  among  whom  was  General  Belmont,  and 
was  soon  deep  in  the  discussion  of  the  standing  prob- 
lem of  how  best  to  keep  the  negroes  down. 

Ellis  remained  by  the  ladies.  Clara  seemed  rest- 
less and  ill  at  ease.  Half  an  hour  elapsed  and  Dela- 
mere  had  not  ap]3eared. 

"  I  wonder  where  Tom  is,"  said  Mrs.  Carteret. 

"  I  guess  he  has  n't  come  in  yet  from  fishing,"  said 
Clara.  ^'  I  wish  he  would  come.  It 's  lonesome  here. 
Mr.  Ellis,  would  you  mind  looking  about  the  hotel 
and  seeing  if  there  's  any  one  here  that  we  know  ?  " 

For  Ellis  the  party  was  already  one  too  large.  He 
had  accej)ted  this  invitation  eagerly,  hoping  to  make 
friends  with  Clara  during  the  evening.  He  had  never 
been  able  to  learn  definitely  the  reason  of  her  cold- 
ness, but  had  dated  it  from  his  meeting  with  old  Mrs. 
Ochiltree,  with  which  he  felt  it  was  obscurely  con- 
nected. He  had  noticed  Delamere's  scowling  look, 
too,  at  their  last  meeting.  Clara's  injustice,  what- 
ever its  cause,  he  felt  keenly.  To  Delamere's  scowl 
he  had  paid  little  attention,  —  he  despised  Tom  so 
much  that,  but  for  his  engagement  to  Clara,  he  would 
have  held  his  opinions  in  utter  contempt. 

He  had  even  wished  that  Clara  might  make  some 
charge  against  him,  —  he  would  have  preferred  that 
to  her  attitude  of  studied  indifference,  the  only  re- 
deeming feature  about  which  was  that  it  was  studied, 
showing  that  she,  at  least,  had  him  in  mind.  The 
next  best  thing,  he  reasoned,  to  having  a  woman  love 
you,  is  to  have  her  dislike  you  violently,  —  the  main 


144  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

point  is  that  you  should  be  kept  in  mind,  and  made 
the  subject  of  strong  emotions.  He  thought  of  the 
story  of  Hall  Caine's,  where  the  woman,  after  years 
of  persecution  at  the  hands  of  an  unwelcome  suitor, 
is  on  the  point  of  yielding,  out  of  sheer  irresistible 
admiration  for  the  man's  strength  and  persistency, 
when  the  lover,  unaware  of  his  victory  and  despairing 
of  success,  seizes  her  in  his  arms  and,  springing  into 
the  sea,  finds  a  watery  grave  for  both.  The  analogy 
of  this  case  wath  his  own  was,  of  course,  not  strong. 
He  did  not  anticipate  any  tragedy  in  their  relations ; 
but  he  was  glad  to  be  thought  of  upon  almost  any 
terms.  He  would  not  have  done  a  mean  thing  to 
make  her  think  of  him ;  but  if  she  did  so  because  of 
a  misconception,  which  he  was  given  no  opportunity 
to  clear  up,  while  at  the  same  time  his  conscience 
absolved  him  from  evil  and  gave  him  the  compensat- 
ing glow  of  martyrdom,  it  was  at  least  better  than 
nothing. 

He  would,  of  course,  have  preferred  to  be  upon  a 
different  footing.  It  had  been  a  pleasure  to  have  her 
speak  to  him  during  the  drive,  —  they  had  exchanged 
a  few  trivial  remarks  in  the  general  conversation.  It 
was  a  greater  pleasure  to  have  her  ask  a  favor  of  him, 
—  a  pleasure  which,  in  this  instance,  was  partly  offset 
when  he  interpreted  her  request  to  mean  that  he  was 
to  look  for  Tom  Delamere.  He  accepted  the  situa- 
tion gracefully,  however,  and  left  the  ladies  alone. 

Knowing  Delamere's  habits,  he  first  went  directly 
to  the  bar-room, — the  atmosphere  would  be  congenial, 
even  if  he  were  not  drinking^.  Delamere  was  not 
there.  Stepping  next  into  the  office,  he  asked  the 
clerk  if  young  Mr.  Delamere  had  been  at  the  hotel. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  returned  the  man  at  the  desk,  "  he  was 


ELLIS  TAKES  A  TRICK  145 

here  at  lunclieon,  and  then  went  out  fishing  in  a  boat 
with  several  other  gentlemen.  I  think  they  came 
back  about  three  o'clock.     I  '11  find  out  for  you." 

He  rang  the  bell,  to  which  a  colored  boy  responded. 

"  Front,"  said  the  clerk,  "  see  if  young  Mr.  Dela- 
mere  's  upstairs.  Look  in  255  or  256,  and  let  me 
know  at  once." 

The  bell-boy  returned  in  a  moment. 

"  Yas,  suh,"  he  reported,  with  a  suppressed  grin, 
*'  he  's  in  256,  suh.  De  do'  was  oj^en,  an'  I  seed  'im 
from  de  hall,  suh." 

"  I  wish  you  'd  go  up  and  tell  him,"  said  Ellis, 
"that —  What  are  you  grinning  about?  "  he  asked 
suddenly,  noticing  the  waiter's  expression. 

"  Nothin',  suh,  nothin'  at  all,  suh,"  responded  the 
negro,  lapsing  into  the  stolidity  of  a  wooden  Indian. 
"  What  shall  I  tell  Mr.  Delamere,  suh  ?  " 

"Tell  him,"  resumed  Ellis,  still  watching  the  boy 
suspiciously,  —  "  no,  I  '11  tell  him  myself." 

He  ascended  the  broad  stair  to  the  second  floor. 
There  was  an  upper  balcony  and  a  parlor,  with  a 
piano  for  the  musically  inclined.  To  reach  these  one 
had  to  pass  along  the  hall  upon  which  the  room  men- 
tioned by  the  bell-boy  opened.  Ellis  was  quite  familiar 
with  the  hotel.  He  could  imagine  circumstances  under 
which  he  would  not  care  to  speak  to  Delamere ;  he 
would  merely  pass  through  the  hall  and  glance  into 
the  room  casually,  as  any  one  else  might  do,  and  see 
what  the  darky  downstairs  might  have  meant  by  his 
impudence. 

It  required  but  a  moment  to  reach  the  room.  The 
door  was  not  wide  open,  but  far  enough  ajar  for  him 
to  see  what  was  going  on  within. 

Two  young  men,  members  of  the  fast  set  at  the 


146  THE  MAKROW   OF  TRADITION 

Clarendon  Club,  were  playing  cards  at  a  small  table, 
near  which  stood  another,  decorated  with  an  array  of 
empty  bottles  and  glasses.  Sprawling  on  a.  lounge, 
with  flushed  face  and  disheveled  hair,  his  collar  un- 
fastened, his  vest  buttoned  awry,  lay  Tom  Delamere, 
breathing  stertorously,  in  what  seemed  a  drunken 
sleep.  Lest  there  should  be  any  doubt  of  the  cause 
of  his  condition,  the  fingers  of  his  right  hand  had  re- 
mained clasped  mechanically  around  the  neck  of  a 
bottle  which  lay  across  his  bosom. 

Ellis  turned  away  in  disgust,  and  went  slowly  back 
to  the  ladies. 

"  There  seems  to  be  no  one  here  yet,"  he  reported. 
"  We  came  a  little  early  for  the  evening  crowd.  The 
clerk  says  Tom  Delamere  was  here  to  luncheon,  but 
he  has  n't  seen  him  for  several  hours." 

"  He  's  not  a  very  gallant  cavalier,"  said  Mrs. 
Carteret  severely.  "  He  ought  to  have  been  waiting 
for  us." 

Clara  was  clearly  disappointed,  and  made  no  effort 
to  conceal  her  displeasure,  leaving  Ellis  in  doubt  as 
to  whether  or  not  he  were  its  object.  Perhaps  she 
suspected  him  of  not  having  made  a  very  thorough 
search.  Her  next  remark  might  have  borne  such  a 
construction. 

"  Sister  Olivia,"  she  said  pettishly,  "  let 's  go  up  to 
the  parlor.  I  can  play,  the  piano  anyway,  if  there  's 
no  one  to  talk  to," 

"  I  find  it  very  comfortable  here,  Clara,"  replied 
her  sister  placidly.  "  Mr.  Ellis  will  go  with  you. 
You  Tl  probably  find  some  one  in  the  parlor,  or 
they  Tl  come  when  you  begin  to  play." 

Clara's  expression  was  not  cordial,  but  she  rose  as 
if  to  go,     Ellis  was   in  a   quandary.     If   she  went 


ELLIS   TAKES   A  TRICK  147 

tliroiigli  the  hall,  the  chances  were  at  least  even  that 
she  would  see  Delamere.  He  did  not  care  a  rap  for 
Delamere,  —  if  he  chose  to  make  a  public  exhibition 
of  himself,  it  w^as  his  own  affair  ;  but  to  see  him  would 
surely  spoil  Miss  Pembertou's  evening,  and,  in  her 
frame  of  mind,  might  lead  to  the  suspicion  that  Ellis 
had  prearranged  the  exposure.  Even  if  she  should 
not  harbor  this  unjust  thought,  she  would  not  love  the 
witness  of  her  discomfiture.  We  had  rather  not  meet 
the  persons  who  have  seen,  even  though  they  never 
mention,  the  skeletons  in  our  closets.  Delamere  had 
disposed  of  himself  for  the  evening.  Ellis  woukl  have 
a  fairer  field  with  Delamere  out  of  sight  and  unac- 
counted for,  than  with  Delamere  in  evidence  in  his 
present  condition. 

"  Would  n't  you  rather  take  a  stroll  on  the  beach, 
Miss  Clara?"  he  asked,  in  the  hope  of  creating  a 
diversion. 

"  No,  I  'm  going  to  the  parlor.  You  need  n't  come, 
Mr.  Ellis,  if  you  'd  rather  go  down  to  the  beach.  I 
can  quite  as  well  go  alone." 

"  I  'd  rather  go  with  you,"  he  said  meekly. 

They  were  moving  tow^ard  the  door  opening  into 
the  hall,  from  which  the  broad  staircase  ascended. 
Ellis,  whose  thoughts  did  not  always  respond  quickly 
to  a  sudden  emergency,  was  puzzling  his  brain  as  to 
how  he  should  save  her  from  any  risk  of  seeing  Dela- 
mere. Throuo'h  the  side  door  leadina;  from  the  hall 
into  the  office,  he  saw  the  bell-boy  to  whom  he  had 
spoken  seated  on  the  bench  provided  for  the  servants. 

"  Won't  you  wait  for  me  just  a  moment,  ]\Iiss 
Clara,  "  while  I  step  into  the  office  ?  I  '11  be  with 
vou  in  an  instant." 

Clara  hesitated. 


148  THE   MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

"  Oil,  certainly,"  she  replied  nonchalantly. 

Ellis  went  direct  to  the  bell-boy.  "  Sit  right  where 
you  are,"  he  said,  "  and  don't  move  a  hair.  What  is 
the  lady  in  the  hall  doing  ?  " 

"  She  's  got  her  back  tu'ned  this  way,  suh.  I  'spec' 
she 's  lookin'  at  the  picture  on  the  opposite  wall,  suh." 

"  All  right,"  whispered  Ellis,  pressing  a  coin  into 
the  servant's  hand.  "  I  'm  going  up  to  the  parlor 
with  the  lady.  You  go  up  ahead  of  us,  and  keep  in 
front  of  us  along  the  hall.  Don't  dare  to  look  back. 
I  shall  keep  on  talking  to  the  lady,  so  that  you  can 
tell  by  my  voice  where  we  are.  When  you  get  to 
room  256,  go  in  and  shut  the  door  behind  you :  pre- 
tend that  you  were  called,  —  ask  the  gentlemen  what 
they  want,  —  tell  any  kind  of  a  lie  you  like,  —  but 
keep  the  door  shut  until  you  're  sure  we  've  got  by. 
Do  you  hear  ?  " 

"  Yes,  suh,"  replied  the  negro  intelligently. 

The  plan  v/orked  without  a  hitch.  Ellis  talked 
steadily,  about  the  hotel,  the  furnishings,  all  sorts  of 
irrelevant  subjects,  to  which  Miss  Pemberton  paid 
little  attention.  She  was  angry  with  Delamere,  and 
took  no  pains  to  conceal  her  feelings.  The  bell-boy 
entered  room  256  just  before  they  reached  the  door. 
Ellis  had  heard  loud  talking  as  they  approached,  and 
as  they  w^ere  passing  there  was  a  crash  of  broken 
glass,  as  though  some  object  had  been  thrown  at  the 
door. 

"  What  is  the  matter  there  ?  "  exclaimed  Clara, 
quickening  her  footsteps  and  instinctively  drawing 
closer  to  Ellis. 

"  Some  one  dropped  a  glass,  I  presume,"  replied 
Ellis  calmly. 

Miss  Pemberton  glanced  at  him  suspiciously.     She 


ELLIS  TAKES  A  TRICK  149 

was  in  a  decidedly  perverse  mood.  Seating  herself 
at  the  j^iano,  she  played  brilliantly  for  a  quarter  of 
an  hour.  Quite  a  number  of  couples  strolled  up  to 
the  parlor,  but  Delamere  was  not  among  them. 

"  Oh  dear !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Pemberton,  as  she  let 
her  fingers  fall  upon  the  keys  with  a  discordant  crash, 
after  the  last  note,  "  I  don't  see  why  we  came  out  here 
to-night.     Let 's  go  back  downstairs." 

Ellis  felt  despondent.  He  had  done  his  utmost  to 
serve  and  to  please  Miss  Pemberton,  but  was  not 
likely,  he  foresaw,  to  derive  much  benefit  from  his 
opportunity.  Delamere  was  evidently  as  much  or 
more  in  her  thoughts  by  reason  of  his  absence  than  if 
he  had  been  present.  If  the  door  should  have  been 
opened,  and  she  should  see  him  from  the  hall  upon 
their  return,  Ellis  could  not  heljj  it.  He  took  the  side 
next  to  the  door,  however,  meaning  to  hurry  past  the 
room  so  that  she  might  not  recognize  Delamere. 

Fortunately  the  door  was  closed  and  all  quiet 
within  the  room.  On  the  stairway  they  met  the  bell- 
boy, rubbing  his  head  with  one  hand  and  holding  a 
bottle  of  seltzer  upon  a  tray  in  the  other.  The  boy 
was  well  enouoh  trained  to  oive  no  sig^n  of  recoo'ni- 
tion,  though  Ellis  guessed  the  destination  of  the  bottle. 

Ellis  hardly  knew  whether  to  feel  pleased  or  disap- 
pointed at  the  success  of  his  manoeuvres.  He  had 
spared  Miss  Pemberton  some  mortification,  but  he 
had  saved  Tom  Delamere  from  merited  exposure. 
Clara  ought  to  know  the  truth,  for  her  own  sake. 

On  the  beach,  a  few  rods  away,  fires  were  burning, 
around  which  several  merry  .groups  had  gathered. 
The  smoke  went  mostly  to  one  side,  but  a  slight  whiff 
came  now  and  then  to  where  Mrs.  Carteret  sat  await- 
ing them. 


150  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

"  They  're  roasting  oysters,"  said  Mrs.  Carteret. 
"  I  wish  you  'd  bring  me  some,  Mr.  Ellis." 

Ellis  strolled  down  to  the  beach.  A  large  iron 
plate,  with  a  turned-up  rim  like  a  great  baking-pan, 
supported  by  legs  which  held  it  off  the  ground,  was  set 
over  a  fire  built  upon  the  sand.  This  primitive  oven 
was  heaped  with  small  oysters  in  the  shell,  taken  from 
the  neighboring  sound,  and  hauled  up  to  the  hotel  by 
a  negro  whose  pony  cart  stood  near  by.  A  wet  coffee- 
sack  of  burlaps  was  spread  over  the  oysters,  which, 
when  steamed  sufficiently,  were  opened  by  a  colored 
man  and  served  gratis  to  all  who  cared  for  them. 

Ellis  secured  a  couple  of  plates  of  oysters,  which 
he  brought  to  Mrs.  Carteret  and  Clara;  they  were 
small,  but  finely  flavored. 

Meanwhile  Delamere,  who  possessed  a  remarkable 
faculty  of  recuperation  from  the  effects  of  drink,  had 
waked  from  his  sleep,  and  remembering  his  engage- 
ment, had  exerted  himself  to  overcome  the  ravages 
of  the  afternoon's  debauch.  A  dash  of  cold  water 
braced  him  up  somewhat.  A  bottle  of  seltzer  and  a 
big  cup  of  strong  coffee  still  further  strengthened  his 
nerves. 

When  Ellis  returned  to  the  veranda,  after  having 
taken  away  the  plates,  Delamere  had  joined  the  ladies 
and  was  explaining  the  cause  of  his  absence. 

He  had  been  overcome  by  the  heat,  he  said,  while 
out  fishing,  and  had  been  lying  down  ever  since. 
Perha]3s  he  ought  to  have  sent  for  a  doctor,  but  the 
fellows  had  looked  after  him.  He  had  n't  sent  word 
to  his  friends  because  he  had  n't  wished  to  spoil  their 
evening. 

"  That  was  very  considerate  of  you,  Tom,"  said 
Mrs.  Carteret  dryly,  "  but  you  ought  to  have  let  us 


ELLIS  TAKES   A  TRICK  151 

know.  We  have  been  worrying  about  you  very  much. 
Clara  has  found  the  evening  dreadfully  dull." 

"  Indeed,  no,  sister  Olivia,"  said  the  young  lady 
cheerfully,  "  I  've  been  having  a  lovely  time.  Mr. 
Ellis  and  I  have  been  up  in  the  parlor ;  I  played  the 
piano ;  and  we  've  been  eating  oysters  and  having  a 
most  delightful  time.  Won't  you  take  me  down 
there  to  the  beach,  Mr.  Ellis  ?  I  want  to  see  the  fires. 
Come  on." 

"  Can't  I  go  ?  "  asked  Tom  jealously. 

"  No,  indeed,  you  must  n't  stir  a  foot !  You  must 
not  overtax  yourself  so  soon  ;  it  might  do  you  serious 
injury.     Stay  here  with  sister  Olivia." 

She  took  Ellis's  arm  with  exaggerated  cordiality. 
Delamere  glared  after  them  angrily.  Ellis  did  not 
stop  to  question  her  motives,  but  took  the  goods  the 
gods  provided.  With  no  very  great  apparent  effort, 
Miss  Pemberton  became  quite  friendly,  and  they 
strolled  along  the  beach,  in  sight  of  the  hotel,  for 
nearly  half  an  hour.  As  they  were  coming  up  she 
asked  him  abruptly,  — 

''  Mr.  Ellis,  did  you  know  Tom  was  in  the  hotel?  " 

Ellis  was  looking  across  the  sound,  at  the  lights  of 
a  distant  steamer  which  was  making  her  way  toward 
the  harbor. 

"  I  wonder,"  he  said  musingly,  as  though  he  had 
not  heard  her  question,  "  if  that  is  the  Ocean  Belle?" 

"  And  was  he  really  sick  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  She  's  later  than  usual  this  trip,"  continued  Ellis, 
pursuing  his  thought.  "  She  was  due  about  five 
o'clock." 

Miss  Pemberton,  under  cover  of  the  darkness, 
smiled  a  fine  smile,  which  foreboded  ill  for  some  one. 
When  they  joined  the  party  on  the  piazza,  the  major 


152  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

had  come  up  and  was  saying  that  it  was  time  to  go. 
He  had  been  engaged  in  conversation,  for  most  of  the 
evening,  with  General  Behiiont  and  several  other 
gentlemen. 

"  Here  comes  the  general  now.  Let  me  see.  There 
are  five  of  ns.  The  general  has  offered  me  a  seat  in 
his  buggy,  and  Tom  can  go  with  you-all." 

The  general  came  up  and  spoke  to  the  ladies.  Tom 
murmured  his  thanks ;  it  would  enable  him  to  make 
up  a  part  of  the  delightful  evening  he  had  missed. 

When  Mrs.  Carteret  had  taken  the  rear  seat,  Clara 
promptly  took  the  place  beside  her.  Ellis  and  Dela- 
mere  sat  in  front.  When  Delamere,  who  had  offered 
to  drive,  took  the  reins,  Ellis  saw  that  his  hands  were 
shaking. 

"  Give  me  the  lines,"  he  whispered.  "  Yournerves 
are  unsteady  and  the  road  is  not  well  lighted." 

Delamere  prudently  yielded  the  reins.  He  did  not 
like  Ellis's  tone,  which  seemed  sneering  rather  than 
expressive  of  sympathy  with  one  who  had  been  suf- 
fering. He  wondered  if  the  beggar  knew  anything 
about  his  illness.  Clara  had  been  acting  strangely. 
It  would  have  been  just  like  Ellis  to  have  slandered 
him.  The  upstart  had  no  business  with  Clara  any- 
way. He  would  cheerfully  have  strangled  Ellis,  if  he 
could  have  done  so  with  safety  to  himself  and  no 
chance  of  discovery. 

The  drive  homeward  through  the  night  was  almost 
a  silent  journey.  Mrs.  Carteret  was  anxious  about 
her  baby.  Clara  did  not  speak,  except  now  and  then 
to  Ellis  with  reference  to  some  object  in  or  near  the 
road.  Occasionally  they  passed  a  vehicle  in  the  dark- 
ness, sometimes  barely  avoiding  a  collision.  Far  to 
the  north  the  sky  was  lit  up  with  the  glow  of  a  forest 


ELLIS  TAKES  A  TRICK  153 

fire.  The  breeze  from  the  Sound  was  dellciously  cooL 
Soon  the  last  toll-gate  was  passed  and  the  lights  of  the 
town  appeared. 

Ellis  threw  the  lines  to  William,  who  was  waiting, 
and  hastened  to  help  the  ladies  out. 

"  Good-night,  Mr.  Ellis,"  said  Clara  sweetly,  as  she 
gave  Ellis  her  hand.  "  Thank  you  for  a  very  pleasant 
evening.     Come  up  and  see  us  soon." 

She  ran  into  the  house  without  a  word  to  Tom. 


XVII 

THE    SOCIAL    ASPIRATIONS   OF   CAPTAIN   McBANE 

It  was  only  eleven  o'clock,  and  Delamere,  not  being 
at  all  sleepy,  and  feeling  somewhat  out  of  sorts  as  the 
combined  results  of  his  afternoon's  debauch  and  the 
snubbing  he  had  received  at  Clara's  hands,  directed 
the  major's  coachman,  who  had  taken  charge  of  the 
trap  upon  its  arrival,  to  drive  him  to  the  St.  James 
Hotel  before  returning  the  horses  to  the  stable.  First, 
however,  the  coachman  left  Ellis  at  his  boarding- 
house,  which  was  near  by.  The  two  young  men 
parted  with  as  scant  courtesy  as  was  possible  without 
an  open  rupture. 

Delamere  hoped  to  find  at  the  hotel  some  form  of 
distraction  to  fill  in  an  hour  or  two  before  going 
home.  Ill  fortune  favored  him  by  placing  in  his  way 
the  burly  form  of  Captain  George  McBane,  who  was 
sitting  in  an  armchair  alone,  smoking  a  midnight 
cigar,  under  the  hotel  balcony.  Upon  Delamere's 
making  known  his  desire  for  amusement,  the  captain 
proposed  a  small  game  of  poker  in  his  own  room. 

McBane  had  been  waiting  for  some  such  convenient 
opportunity.  We  have  already  seen  that  the  captain 
was  desirous  of  social  recognition,  which  he  had  not 
yet  obtained  beyond  the  superficial  acquaintance  ac- 
quired by  association  with  men  about  town.  He  had 
determined  to  assault  society  in  its  citadel  by  seeking 
membership  in  the  Clarendon    Club,  of  which  most 


SOCIAL   ASPIRATIONS   OF   CAPTAIN  McBANE    155 

gentlemen  of  the  best  families  of  the  city  were  mem- 
bers. 

The  Clarendon  Club  was  a  historic  institution,  and 
its  membership  a  social  cult,  the  temple  of  which  was 
located  just  off  the  main  street  of  the  city,  in  a  digni- 
fied old  colonial  mansion  which  had  housed  it  for  the 
nearly  one  hundred  years  during  which  it  had  main- 
tained its  existence  unbroken.  There  had  grown  up 
around  it  many  traditions  and  special  usages.  Mem- 
bership in  the  Clarendon  was  the  sine  qua  non  of 
high  social  standing,  and  was  conditional  upon  two  of 
three  things,  —  birth,  wealth,  and  breeding.  Breed- 
ing was  the  prime  essential,  but,  with  rare  exceptions, 
must  be  backed  by  either  birth  or  money. 

Having  decided,  therefore,  to  seek  admission  into 
this  social  arcanum,  the  captain,  who  had  either  not 
quite  appreciated  the  standard  of  the  Clarendon's 
membershi23,  or  had  failed  to  see  that  he  fell  beneath 
it,  looked  about  for  an  intermediary  through  whom  to 
approach  the  object  of  his  desire.  He  had  already 
thought  of  Tom  Delamere  in  this  connection,  having 
with  him  such  an  acquaintance  as  one  forms  around  a 
hotel,  and  having  long  ago  discovered  that  Delamere 
was  a  young  man  of  superficially  amiable  disposition, 
vicious  instincts,  lax  principles,  and  a  weak  will,  and, 
which  was  quite  as  much  to  the  purpose,  a  member 
of  the  Clarendon  Club.  Possessing  mental  character- 
istics almost  entirely  opposite,  Delamere  and  the  cap- 
tain had  certain  tastes  in  common,  and  had  smoked, 
drunk,  and  played  cards  together  more  than  once. 

Still  more  to  his  purpose,  McBane  had  detected 
Delamere  trying  to  cheat  him  at  cards.  He  had  said 
nothing  about  this  discovery,  but  had  merely  noted  it 
as  something  which  at  some  future  time  might  prove 


156  THE  MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

useful.  The  captain  had  not  suffered  by  Delamere's 
deviation  from  the  straight  line  of  honor,  for  while 
Tom  was  as  clever  with  the  cards  as  might  be  ex- 
pected of  a  young  man  who  had  devoted  most  of  his 
leisure  for  several  years  to  handling  them,  McBane 
was  past  master  in  their  manipulation.  During  a 
stormy  career  he  had  touched  more  or  less  pitch,  and 
had  escaped  few  sorts  of  defilement. 

The  appearance  of  Delamere  at  a  late  hour,  unac- 
companied, and  wearing  upon  his  countenance  an 
expression  in  which  the  captain  read  aright  the  crav- 
ing for  mental  and  physical  excitement,  gave  him  the 
opportunity  for  which  he  had  been  looking.  McBane 
was  not  the  man  to  lose  an  opportunity,  nor  did  Dela- 
mere require  a  second  invitation.  Neither  was  it 
necessary,  during  the  progress  of  the  game,  for  the 
captain  to  press  upon  his  guest  the  contents  of  the 
decanter  which  stood  upon  the  table  within  convenient 
reach. 

The  captain  permitted  Delamere  to  win  from  him 
several  small  amounts,  after  which  he  gradually  in- 
creased the  stakes  and  turned  the  tables. 

Delamere,  with  every  instinct  of  a  gamester,  was 
no  more  a  match  for  McBane  in  self-control  than  in 
skill.  When  the  young  man  had  lost  all  his  money, 
the  captain  expressed  his  entire  willingness  to  accept 
notes  of  hand,  for  which  he  happened  to  have  con- 
venient blanks  in  his  apartment. 

When  Delamere,  flushed  with  excitement  and  wine, 
rose  from  the  gaming  table  at  two  o'clock,  he  was 
vaguely  conscious  that  he  owed  McBane  a  consider- 
able sum,  but  could  not  have  stated  how  much.  His 
opponent,  who  was  entirely  cool  and  collected,  ran  his 
eye  carelessly  over  the  bits  of  paper  to  which  Dela- 
mere had  attached  his  signature. 


SOCIAL  ASPIRATIONS   OF  CAPTAIN  McBANE     157 

"  Just  one  tliousancl  dollars  even,"  he  remarked. 

The  announcement  of  this  total  had  as  sobering  an 
effect  upon  Delamere  as  though  he  had  been  suddenly- 
deluged  with  a  shower  of  cold  water.  For  a  moment 
he  caught  his  breath.  He  had  not  a  dollar  in  the 
world  with  which  to  pay  this  sum.  His  only  source  of 
income  was  an  allowance  from  his  grandfather,  the 
monthly  installment  of  which,  drawn  that  very  day,  he 
had  just  lost  to  McBane,  before  starting  in  upon  the 
notes  of  hand. 

"  I  '11  give  you  your  revenge  another  time,"  said 
McBane,  as  they  rose.  "  Luck  is  against  you  to-night, 
and  I  'm  unwilling  to  take  advantage  of  a  clever  young 
fellow  like  you.  Meantime,"  he  added,  tossing  the 
notes  of  hand  carelessly  on  a  bureau,  "  don't  worry 
about  these  bits  of  paper.  Such  small  matters 
should  n't  cut  any  figure  between  friends ;  but  if  you 
are  around  the  hotel  to-morrow,  I  should  like  to 
speak  to  you  upon  another  subject." 

"  Very  well,  captain,"  returned  Tom  somewhat  un- 
graciously. 

Delamere  had  been  completely  beaten  with  his  own 
weapons.  He  had  tried  desperately  to  cheat  McBane. 
He  knew  perfectly  well  that  McBane  had  discovered 
his  efforts  and  had  cheated  him  in  turn,  for  the  cap- 
tain's play  had  clearly  been  gauged  to  meet  his  own. 
The  biter  had  been  bit,  and  could  not  complain  of  the 
outcome.  ^ 

The  following  afternoon  McBane  met  Delamere  at 
the  hotel,  and  bluntly  requested  the  latter  to  j^ropose 
him  for  membership  in  the  Clarendon  Club. 

Delamere  was  annoyed  at  this  request.  His  aris- 
tocratic gorge  rose  at  the  presumption  of  this  son  of 


158  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

an  overseer  and  ex-driver  of  convicts.  McBane  was 
good  enougli  to  win  money  from,  or  even  to  lose 
money  to,  but  not  good  enough  to  be  recognized  as  a 
social  equal.  He  would  instinctively  have  blackballed 
McBane  had  he  been  proposed  by  some  one  else ;  with 
what  grace  could  he  put  himself  forward  as  the 
sponsor  for  this  impossible  social  aspirant  ?  More- 
over, it  was  clearly  a  vulgar,  cold-blooded  attempt 
on  McBane's  part  to  use  his  power  over  him  for  a 
personal  advantage. 

"  Well,  now,  Captain  McBane,"  returned  Delamere 
diplomatically,  "  I  've  never  put  any  one  up  yet,  and 
it 's  not  regarded  as  good  form  for  so  young  a  mem- 
ber as  myself  to  propose  candidates.  I  'd  much 
rather  you  'd  ask  some  older  r^an." 

"Oh,  well,"  replied  McBane,  "just  as  you  say, 
only  I  thought  you  had  cut  your  eye  teeth." 

Delamere  was  not  pleased  with  McBane's  tone. 
His  remark  was  not  acquiescent,  though  couched  in 
terms  of  assent.  There  was  a  sneering  savagery 
about  it,  too,  that  left  Delamere  uneasy.  He  was,  in 
a  measure,  in  McBane's  power.  He  could  not  pay 
the  thousand  dollars,  unless  it  fell  from  heaven,  or  he 
could  win  it  from  some  one  else.  He  would  not  dare 
go  to  his  grandfather  for  help.  Mr.  Delamere  did 
not  even  know  that  his  grandson  gambled.  He  might 
not  have  objected,  perhaps,  to  a  gentleman's  game, 
with  moderate  stakes,  but  he  would  certainly,  Tom 
knew  very  well,  have  looked  upon  a  thousand  dollars 
as  a  preposterous  sum  to  be  lost  at  cards  by  a  man 
who  had  nothing  with  which  to  pay  it.  It  was  part 
of  Mr.  Delamere's  creed  that  a  gentleman  should  not 
make  debts  that  he  was  not  reasonably  able  to  pa}^ 

There  was  still  another  difficulty.     If  he  had  lost 


SOCIAL  ASPIRATIONS   OF  CAPTAIN  McBANE     159 

the  money  to  a  gentleman,  and  it  had  been  his  first 
serious  departure  from  Mr.  Delamere's  perfectly  well 
understood  standard  of  honor,  Tom  might  have  risked 
a  confession  and  thrown  himself  on  his  grandfather's 
mercy ;  but  he  owed  other  sums  here  and  there, 
which,  to  his  just  now  much  disturbed  imagination, 
loomed  up  in  alarming  number  and  amount.  He  had 
recently  observed  signs  of  coldness,  too,  on  the  part  of 
certain  members  of  the  club.  Moreover,  like  most  men 
with  one  commanding  vice,  he  was  addicted  to  several 
subsidiary  forms  of  iniquity,  which  in  case  of  a  scan- 
dal were  more  than  likely  to  come  to  light.  He  was 
clearly  and  most  disagreeably  caught  in  the  net  of  his 
own  hypocrisy.  His  grandfather  believed  him  a 
model  of  integrity,  a  pattern  of  honor ;  he  could  not 
afford  to  have  his  grandfather  undeceived. 

He  thought  of  old  Mrs.  Ochiltree.  If  she  were  a 
liberal  soul,  she  could  give  him  a  thousand  dollars 
now,  when  he  needed  it,  instead  of  making  him  wait 
until  she  died,  which  might  not  be  for  ten  years  or 
more,  for  a  legacy  which  was  steadily  growing  less 
and  might  be  entirely  exhausted  if  she  lived  long 
enough,  —  some  old  people  were  very  tenacious  of  life  ! 
She  was  a  careless  old  woman,  too,  he  reflected,  and 
very  foolishly  kept  her  money  in  the  house.  Lat- 
terly she  had  been  growing  weak  and  childish.  Some 
day  she  might  be  robbed,  and  then  his  prospective 
inheritance  from  that  source  would  vanish  into  thin 
air! 

With  regard  to  this  debt  to  McBane,  if  he  could 
not  pay  it,  he  could  at  least  gain  a  long  respite  by 
proposing  the  captain  at  the  club.  True,  he  would 
undoubtedly  be  blackballed,  but  before  this  inevitable 
event  his  name  must  remain  posted  for  several  weeks, 


160  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

during  whicli  interval  McBane  would  be  conciliatory. 
On  the  other  hand,  to  propose  McBane  would  arouse 
suspicion  of  his  own  motives ;  it  might  reach  his 
grandfather's  ears,  and  lead  to  a  demand  for  an 
explanation,  which  it  would  be  difficult  to  make. 
Clearly,  the  better  plan  would  be  to  temporize  with 
McBane,  with  the  hope  that  something  might  inter- 
vene to  remove  this  cursed  obligation. 

"  Suppose,  captain,"  he  said  affably,  "  we  leave  the 
matter  open  for  a  few  days.  This  is  a  thing  that 
can't  be  rushed.  I  '11  feel  the  pulse  of  my  friends 
and  yours,  and  when  we  get  the  lay  of  the  land,  the 
affair  can  be  accomplished  much  more  easily." 

"  Well,  that 's  better,"  returned  McBane,  somewhat 
mollified,  —  "  i/you  '11  do  that." 

"  To  be  sure  I  will,"  replied  Tom  easily,  too  much 
relieved  to  resent,  if  not  too  preoccupied  to  perceive, 
the  implied  doubt  of  his  veracity. 

McBane  ordered  and  paid  for  more  drinks,  and 
they  parted  on  amicable  terms. 

"  We  '11  let  these  notes  stand  for  the  time  being, 
Tom,"  said  McBane,  with  significant  emphasis,  when 
they  separated. 

Delamere  winced  at  the  familiarity.  He  had 
reached  that  degree  of  moral  deterioration  where, 
while  principles  were  of  little  moment,  the  externals 
of  social  intercourse  possessed  an  exaggerated  impor- 
tance. McBane  had  never  before  been  so  personal. 
He  had  addressed  the  young  aristocrat  first  as  "  Mr. 
Delamere,"  then,  as  their  acquaintance  advanced,  as 
"  Delamere."  He  had  now  reached  the  abbreviated 
Christian  name  stage  of  familiarity.  There  was  no 
lower  depth  to  which  Tom  could  sink,  unless  McBane 
should  invent  a  nickname  by  which  to  address  him. 


SOCIAL  ASPIRATIONS  OF  CAPTAIN  McBANE    161 

He  did  not  like  McBane's  manner,  —  it  was  charac- 
terized by  a  veiled  insolence  -which  was  exceedingly 
offensive.  He  would  go  over  to  the  club  and  try  his 
luck  with  some  honest  player,  —  perhaps  something 
might  turn  up  to  relieve  him  from  his  embarrassment. 

He  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  mechanically,  —  and 
found  it  empty  !  In  the  present  state  of  his  credit, 
he  could  hardly  play  without  money. 

A  thought  struck  him.  Leaving  the  hotel,  he 
hastened  home,  where  he  found  Sandy  dusting  his 
famous  suit  of  clothes  on  the  back  piazza.  Mr.  Dela- 
mere  was  not  at  home,  having  departed  for  Belleview 
about  two  o'clock,  leaving  Sandy  to  follow  him  in  the 
morning. 

"  Hello,  Sandy,"  exclaimed  Tom,  with  an  assumed 
jocidarity  which  he  was  very  far  from  feeling,  "  what 
are  you  doing  with  those  gorgeous  garments  ?  " 

"  I  'm  a-dustin'  of  'em,  Mistuh  Tom,  dat  's  w'at 
I  'm  a-doin'.  Dere  's  somethin'  wrong  'bout  dese 
clo's  er  mine  —  I  don'  never  seem  ter  be  able  ter  keep 
'em  clean  no  mo'.  Ef  I  b'lieved  in  dem  ole-timey 
sayin's,  I  'd  'low  dere  wuz  a  witch  come  here  eve'y 
night  an'  tuk  'em  out  an'  wo'  'em,  er  tuk  me  out  an' 
rid  me  in  'em.  Dere  wuz  somethin'  wrong  'bout  dat 
Cakewalk  business,  too,  dat  I  ain'  never  unde'stood 
an'  don'  know  how  ter  'count  fer,  'less  dere  wuz  some 
kin'  er  dev'lishness  goin'  on  dat  don'  show  on  de  su'- 
face." 

"  Sandy,"  asked  Tom  irrelevantly,  "  have  you  any 
money  in  the  house  ?  " 

"Yas,  suh,  I  got  de  money  Mars  John  give  me 
ter  git  dem  things  ter  take  out  ter  Belleview  in  de 
mawnin'." 

"  I  mean  money  of  your  own." 


162  THE  MARKOW   OF  TRADITION" 

"  I  got  a  qua'ter  ter  buy  terbacker  wid,"  returned 
Sandy  cautiously. 

"  Is  that  all  ?     Have  n't  you  some  saved  up  ?  " 

"  Well,  yas,  Mistuh  Tom,"  returned  Sandy,  with 
evident  reluctance,  "  dere  's  a  few  dollahs  put  away  in 
my  bureau  drawer  f er  a  rainy  day,  —  not  much,  suli." 

"  I  'm  a  little  short  this  afternoon,  Sandy,  and  need 
some  money  right  away.  Grandfather  is  n't  here,  so 
I  can't  get  any  from  him.  Let  me  take  wdiat  you 
have  for  a  day  or  two,  Sandy,  and  I  '11  return  it  with 
good  interest." 

"  Now,  Mistuh  Tom,"  said  Sandy  seriously,  "  I 
don'  min'  lettin'  you  take  my  money,  but  I  hopes  you 
ain'  gwine  ter  use  it  fer  none  er  dem  rakehelly 
gwines-on  er  yo'n,  —  gamblin'  an'  bettin'  an'  so  fo'th. 
Yo'  grandaddy  '11  fin'  out  'bout  you  yit,  ef  you  don' 
min'  yo'  P's  an'  Q's.  I  does  my  bes'  ter  keep  yo'  mis- 
doin's  f'm  'im,  an'  sense  I  b'en  tu'ned  out  er  de  chu'ch 
—  thoo  no  fault  er  my  own,  God  knows  !  —  I  've  tol' 
lies  'nirff  'bout  you  ter  sink  a  ship.  But  it  ain't  right, 
Mistuh  ToQi,  it  ain't  right !  an'  I  only  does  it  fer  de 
sake  er  de  fam'ly  honuh,  dat  Mars  John  sets  so  much 
sto'  by,  an'  ter  save  his  feelin's ;  fer  de  doctuh  saj^s 
he  mus'  n'  git  ixcited  'bout  nothin',  er  it  mought  bring 
on  another  stroke." 

"  That 's  right,  Sandy,"  replied  Tom  approvingly  ; 
"  but  the  family  honor  is  as  safe  in  my  hands  as  in 
grandfather's  ow^n,  and  I  'm  going  to  use  the  money 
for  an  excellent  purpose,  in  fact  to  relieve  a  case  of 
genuine  distress  ;  and  I  '11  hand  it  back  to  you  in  a 
day  or  two,  —  perhaps  to-morrow.  Fetch  me  the 
money,  Sandy,  —  that 's  a  good  darky  !  " 

"All  right,  Mistuh  Tom,  you  shill  have  de  money; 
but  I  w^auts  ter  tell  you,  suh,  dat  in  all  de  yeahs  I  has 


SOCIAL  ASPIRATIONS   OF  CAPTAIN  McBANE     163 

wo'ked  fer  yo'  gran'daddy,  he  has  never  called  me  a 
'  darky '  ter  my  face,  suh.  Co'se  I  knows  dere  's  w'ite 
folks  an'  black  folks,  —  but  dere 's  manners,  suh, 
dere  's  manners,  an'  gent'emen  oughter  be  de  ones  ter 
use  'em,  suh,  ef  dey  ain't  ter  be  fergot  entirely !  " 

"  There,  there,  Sandy,"  returned  Tom  in  a  concilia- 
tory tone,  "  I  beg  your  pardon  !  I  've  been  associating 
with  some  Northern  white  folks  at  the  hotel,  and 
picked  up  the  word  from  them.  You  're  a  high-toned 
colored  gentleman,  Sandy,  —  the  finest  one  on  the 
footstool." 

Still  muttering  to  himself,  Sandy  retired  to  his 
own  room,  which  was  in  the  house,  so  that  he  might 
be  always  near  his  master.  He  soon  returned  with  a 
time-stained  leather  pocket-book  and  a  coarse-knit 
cotton  sock,  from  which  two  receptacles  he  painfully 
extracted  a  number  of  bills  and  coins. 

"You  count  dat,  Mistuh  Tom,  so  I'll  know  how 
much  I  'm  lettin'  you  have." 

"  This  is  n't  worth  anything,"  said  Tom,  pushing 
aside  one  roll  of  bills.     "  It 's  Confederate  money." 

"  So  it  is,  suh.  It  ain't  wuth  nothin'  now ;  but  it 
has  be'n  money,  an'  who  kin  tell  but  what  it  mought 
be  money  agin  ?  De  rest  er  dem  bills  is  greenbacks, 
—  dey '11  pass  all  right,  I  reckon." 

The  good  money  amounted  to  about  fifty  dollars, 
which  Delamere  thrust  eagerly  into  his  pocket. 

"  You  won't  say  anything  to  grandfather  about  this, 
will  you,  Sandy,"  he  said,  as  he  turned  away. 

"  No,  suh,  co'se  I  won't  I  Does  I  ever  tell  'im 
'bout  yo'  gwines-on  ?  Ef  I  did,"  he  added  to  himself, 
as  the  young  man  disappeared  down  the  street,  "  I 
would  n'  have  time  ter  do  nothin'  e'se  ha'dly.  I  don' 
know  whether  I  '11  ever  see  dat  money  agin  er  no,  do' 


164  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

I  'magine  de  ole  gent'eman  would  n'  lemme  lose  it  ef 
he  knowed.  But  I  ain'  gwiue  ter  tell  him,  whether  I 
git  my  money  back  er  no,  fer  he  is  jes'  so  wrop'  up  in 
dat  boy  dat  I  b'lieve  it  'd  jes'  break  his  hea't  ter  fin' 
out  how  he  's  be'n  gwine  on.  Doctuh  Price  has  tol' 
me  not  ter  let  de  ole  gent'eman  git  ixcited,  er  e'se 
dere  's  no  tellin'  w'at  mought  happen.  He  's  be'n  good 
ter  me,  he  has,  an'  I  'm  gwine  ter  take  keer  er  him, 
—  dat 's  w'at  I  is,  ez  long  ez  I  has  de  chance." 

Delamere  went  directly  to  the  club,  and  soon  lounged 
into  the  card-room,  where  several  of  the  members  were 
engaged  in  play.  He  sauntered  here  and  there,  too 
much  absorbed  in  his  own  thoughts  to  notice  that  the 
greetings  he  received  were  less  cordial  than  those 
usually  exchanged  between  the  members  of  a  small 
and  select  social  club.  Finally,  when  Augustus,  com- 
monly and  more  appropriately  called  "  Gus,"  David- 
son came  into  the  room,  Tom  stepped  toward  him. 

"  "Will  you  take  a  hand  in  a  game,  Gus  ?  " 

"  Don't  care  if  I  do,"  said  the  other.  "  Let 's  sit 
over  here." 

Davidson  led  the  way  to  a  table  near  the  fireplace, 
near  which  stood  a  tall  screen,  which  at  times  occupied 
various  places  in  the  room.  Davidson  took  the  seat 
opposite  the  fireplace,  leaving  Delamere  with  his  back 
to  the  screen. 

Delamere  staked  half  of  Sandy's  money,  and  lost. 
He  staked  the  rest,  and  determined  to  win,  because 
he  could  not  afford  to  lose.  He  had  just  reached  out 
his  hand  to  gather  in  the  stakes,  when  he  was  charged 
with  cheating  at  cards,  of  which  two  members,  who 
had  quietly  entered  the  room  and  posted  themselves 
behind  the  screen,  had  secured  specific  proof. 


SOCIAL  ASPIRATIOXS   OF  CAPTAIN  McBAXE    165 

A  meeting  of  the  membership  committee  was  hastily 
summoned,  it  being  an  hour  at  which  most  of  them 
might  be  found  at  the  club.  To  avoid  a  scandal,  and 
to  save  the  feelings  of  a  prominent  family,  Delamere 
was  given  an  opj^ortunity  to  resign  quietly  from  the 
club,  on  condition  that  he  paid  all  his  gambling  debts 
within  three  days,  and  took  an  oath  never  to  play 
cards  again  for  money.  This  latter  condition  was 
made  at  the  suggestion  of  an  elderly  member,  who 
apparently  believed  that  a  man  who  would  cheat  at 
cards  would  stick  at  perjury. 

Delamere  acquiesced  very  promptly.  The  taking 
of  the  oath  was  easy.  The  payment  of  some  fifteen 
hundred  dollars  of  debts  was  a  different  matter.  He 
went  away  from  the  club  thoughtfully,  and  it  may  be 
said,  in  full  justice  to  a  past  which  was  far  from 
immaculate,  that  in  his  present  thoughts  he  touched  a 
depth  of  scoundrelism  far  beyond  anything  of  which 
he  had  as  yet  deemed  himself  capable.  When  a  man 
of  good  j)osition,  of  whom  much  is  expected,  takes  to 
evil  courses,  his  progress  is  apt  to  resemble  that  of  a 
well-bred  woman  who  has  started  on  the  downward 
path,  —  the  pace  is  all  the  swifter  because  of  the 
distance  which  must  be  traversed  to  reach  the  bottom. 
Delamere  had  made  rapid  headway  ;  having  hitherto 
played  with  sin,  his  servant  had  now  become  his 
master,  and  held  him  in  an  iron  grip. 


XYIII 

SANDY   SEES   HIS   OWN    HA'nT 

Having  finished  cleaDing  his  clothes,  Sandy  went 
out  to  the  kitchen  for  supper,  after  which  he  found 
himself  with  nothing  to  do.  Mr.  Delamere's  absence 
relieved  him  from  attendance  at  the  house  during 
the  evening.  He  might  have  smoked  his  pipe  tran- 
quilly in  the  kitchen  until  bedtime,  had  not  the  cook 
.  intimated,  rather  pointedly,  that  she  expected  other 
company.  To  a  man  of  Sandy's  tact  a  word  was 
sufficient,  and  he  resigned  himself  to  seeking  com- 
panionship elsewhere. 

Under  normal  circumstances,  Sandy  would  have  at- 
tended prayer-meeting  on  this  particular  evening  of 
the  week  ;  but  being  still  in  contumacy,  and  cherish- 
ing what  he  considered  the  just  resentment  of  a  man 
falsely  accused,  he  stifled  the  inclination  which  by 
long  habit  led  him  toward  the  church,  and  set  out  for 
the  house  of  a  friend  with  whom  it  occurred  to  him 
that  he  might  spend  the  evening  pleasantly.  Un- 
fortunately, his  friend  proved  to  be  not  at  home,  so 
Sandy  turned  his  footsteps  toward  the  lower  part  of 
the  town,  where  the  streets  were  well  lighted,  and  on 
pleasant  evenings  quite  animated.  On  the  way  he 
met  Josh  Green,  wdiom  he  had  known  for  many  years, 
though  their  paths  did  not  often  cross.  In  his  loneli- 
ness Sandy  accepted  an  invitation  to  go  with  Josh 
and  have  a  drink,  —  a  single  drink. 


SANDY   SEES  HIS   OWN  HA'NT  167 

When  Sandy  was  going  home  about  eleven  o'clock, 
three  sheets  in  the  wind,  such  was  the  potent  effect 
of  the  single  drink  and  those  which  had  followed  it, 
he  w^as  scared  almost  into  soberness  by  a  remarkable 
apparition.  As  it  seemed  to  Sandy,  he  saw  himself 
hurrying  along  in  front  of  himself  toward  the  house. 
Possibly  the  muddled  condition  of  Sandy's  intellect 
had  so  affected  his  judgment  as  to  vitiate  any  con- 
clusion he  might  draw,  but  Sandy  was  quite  sober 
enough  to  perceive  that  the  figure  ahead  of  him  wore 
his  best  clothes  and  looked  exactly  like  him,  but 
seemed  to  be  in  something  more  of  a  hurry,  a  dis- 
crepancy which  Sandy  at  once  corrected  by  quickening 
his  own  pace  so  as  to  maintain  as  nearly  as  possible 
an  equal  distance  between  himself  and  his  double. 
The  situation  was  certainly  an  incomprehensible  one, 
and  savored  of  the  supernatural. 

''  Ef  dat  's  me  gwine  'long  in  front,"  mused  Sandy, 
in  vinous  perplexity,  "  den  who  is  dis  behin'  here  ? 
Dere  ain'  but  one  er  me,  an'  my  ha'nt  would  n'  leave 
my  body  'tel  I  wuz  dead.  Ef  dat 's  me  in  front,  den 
I  mus'  be  my  own  ha'nt ;  an'  whichever  one  of  us  is 
de  ha'nt,  de  yuther  must  be  dead  an'  don'  know  it.  I 
don'  know  what  ter  make  er  no  sech  gwines-on,  I 
don't.  Maybe  it  ain'  me  after  all,  but  it  certainly  do 
look  lack  me." 

When  the  apparition  disappeared  in  the  house  by 
the  side  door,  Sandy  stood  in  the  j^ard  for  several 
minutes,  under  the  shade  of  an  elm-tree,  before  he 
could  make  up  his  mind  to  enter  the  house.  He  took 
courage,  however,  upon  the  reflection  that  perhaps, 
after  all,  it  was  only  the  bad  liquor  he  had  drunk. 
Bad  liquor  often  made  people  see  double. 

He  entered  the  house.     It  was  dark,  except  for  a 


168  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

light  in  Tom  Delamere's  room.  Sandy  tapped  softly 
at  the  door. 

"  Wlio  's  there  ? "  came  Delamere's  voice,  in  a 
somewhat  startled  tone,  after  a  momentary  silence. 

"  It 's  me,  suh  ;  Sandy." 

They  both  spoke  softly.  It  was  the  rule  of  the 
house  when  Mr.  Delamere  had  retired,  and  though  he 
was  not  at  home,  habit  held  its  wonted  sway. 

"  Just  a  moment,  Sandy." 

Sandy  waited  patiently  in  the  hall  until  the  door 
was  opened.  If  the  room  showed  any  signs  of  haste 
or  disorder,  Sandy  was  too  full  of  his  own  thoughts 
—  and  other  things  —  to  notice  them. 

"  What  do  you  w^ant,  Sandy,"  asked  Tom.|  / 

"Mistuh  Tom,"  asked  Sandy  solemnly,  "/ef  I  wuz 
in  yo'  place,  an'  you  wuz  in  my  place,  an'  we  wuz  bofe 
in  de  same  place,  whar  would  I  be  ?  " 

Tom  looked  at  Sandy  keenly,  with  a  touch  of 
apprehension.  Did  Sandy  mean  anything  in  par- 
ticular by  this  enigmatical  inquiry,  and  if  so,  what  ? 
But  Sandy's  face  clearly  indicated  a  state  of  mind  in 
which  consecutive  thought  was  improbable  ;  and  after 
a  brief  glance  Delamere  breathed  more  freely. 

"  I  give  it  up,  Sandy,"  he  responded  lightly. 
"That's  too  deep  for  me." 

"  'Scuse  me,  Mistuh  Tom,  but  is  you  beared  er  seed 
anybody  er  anything  come  in  de  house  fer  de  las'  ten 
minutes  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,  Sandy,  I  have  n't  heard  any  one.  I 
came  from  the  club  an  hour  ago.  I  had  forgotten  my 
key,  and  Sally  got  up  and  let  me  in,  and  then  went 
back  to  bed.  I  've  been  sitting  here  reading  ever 
since.     I  should  have  heard  any  one  who  came  in." 

"  Mistuh  Tom,"  inquired  Sandy  anxiously,  "  would 
you  'low  dat  I  'd  be'n  drinkin'  too  much  ?  " 


SANDY   SEES  HIS  OWN  HA'NT  169 

"  No,  Sandy,  I  should  say  you  were  sober  enough, 
though  of  course  you  may  have  had  a  few  drinks. 
Perhaps  you  'd.  like  another  ?  I  've  got  something 
good  here." 

"  No,  suh,  Mistuh  Tom,  no,  suh !  No  mo'  liquor 
fer  me,  suh,  never  !  When  liquor  kin  make  a  man 
see  his  own  ha'nt,  it 's  'bout  time  fer  dat  man  ter  quit 
drinkin',  it  sho'  is  !     Good-night,  Mistuh  Tom." 

As  Sandy  turned  to  go,  Delamere  was  struck  by  a 
sudden  and  daring  thought.  The  creature  of  impulse, 
he  acted  upon  it  immediately. 

"  By  the  way,  Sandy,"  he  exclaimed  carelessly,  "  I 
can  pay  you  back  that  money  you  were  good  enough 
to  lend  me  this  afternoon.  I  think  I  '11  sleep  better 
if  I  have  the  debt  off  my  mind,  and  I  should  n't  won- 
der if  you  would.  You  don't  mind  having  it  in  gold, 
do  you  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  suh,"  replied  Sandy.  "  I  ain'  seen 
no  goF  fer  so  long  dat  de  sight  er  it  'd  be  good  fer  my 
eyes." 

Tom  counted  out  ten  five-dollar  gold  pieces  upon 
the  table  at  his  elbow. 

"  And  here  's  another,  Sandy,"  he  said,  adding  an 
eleventh,  "  as  interest  for  the  use  of  it." 

"  Thank  y',  Mistuh  Tom.  I  did  n't  spec'  no  in- 
trus',  but  I  don'  never  'fuse  goF  w'en  I  kin  git  it." 

"  And  here,"  added  Delamere,  reaching  carelessly 
into  a  bureau  drawer,  "  is  a  little  old  silk  purse  that 
I  've  had  since  I  was  a  boy.  I  '11  put  the  gold  in  it, 
Sandy ;  it  will  hold  it  very  nicely." 

"  Thank  y',  Mistuh  Tom.  You're  a  gentleman,  suh, 
an'  wo'thy  er  de  fam'ly  name.  Good-night,  suh,  an' 
I  hope  yo'  dreams  '11  be  j^leasanter  'n'  mine.  Ef  it 
wa'n't  fer  dis  goF  kinder  takin'  my  min'  off 'n  dat 


170  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

ha'nt,  I  don'  s'pose  I  'd  be  able  to  do  much  sleepin' 
ter-night.     Good-night,  suh." 

"  Good-night,  Sandy." 

Whether  or  not  Delamere  slept  soundly,  or  was 
troubled  by  dreams,  pleasant  or  unpleasant,  it  is 
nevertheless  true  that  he  locked  his  door,  and  sat  up 
an  hour  later,  looking  through  the  drawers  of  his 
bureau,  and  burning  several  articles  in  the  little  iron 
stove  which  constituted  part  of  the  bedroom  furni- 
ture. 

It  is  also  true  that  he  rose  very  early,  before  the 
household  was  stirring.  The  cook  slept  in  a  room  off 
the  kitchen,  which  was  in  an  outhouse  in  the  back 
yard.  She  was  just  stretching  herself,  preparatory  to 
getting  up,  when  Tom  came  to  her  window  and  said 
that  he  was  going  off  fishing,  to  be  gone  all  day,  and 
that  he  would  not  wait  for  breakfast. 


XIX 

A   MIDNIGHT   WALK 

Ellis  left  the  office  of  tlie  Morning  Chronicle  about 
eleven  o'clock  the  same  evening  and  set  out  to  walk 
home.  His  boarding-house  was  only  a  short  distance 
beyond  old  Mr.  Delamere's  residence,  and  while  he 
might  have  saved  time  and  labor  by  a  slightly  shorter 
route,  he  generally  selected  this  one  because  it  led  also 
by  Major  Carteret's  house.  Sometimes  there  would  be 
a  ray  of  light  from  Clara's  room,  which  was  on  one  of 
the  front  corners  ;  and  at  any  rate  he  would  have  the 
pleasure  of  gazing  at  the  outside  of  the  casket  that 
enshrined  the  jewel  of  his  heart.  It  was  true  that 
this  purely  sentimental  pleasure  was  sometimes  dashed 
with  bitterness  at  the  thought  of  his  rival ;  but  one 
in  love  must  take  the  bitter  with  the  sweet,  and  who 
would  say  that  a  spice  of  jealousy  does  not  add  a  cer- 
tain zest  to  love  ?  On  this  particular  evening,  how- 
ever, he  was  in  a  hopeful  mood.  At  the  Clarendon 
Club,  where  he  had  gone,  a  couple  of  hours  before,  to 
verify  a  certain  news  item  for  the  morning  paper, 
he  had  heard  a  story  about  Tom  Delamere  which,  he 
imagined,  would  spike  that  gentleman's  guns  for  all 
time,  so  far  as  Miss  Pemberton  was  concerned.  So 
grave  an  affair  as  cheating  at  cards  could  never  be 
kept  secret,  —  it  was  certain  to  reach  her  ears  ;  and 
Ellis  was  morally  certain  that  Clara  would  never 
marry  a  man  who  had  been  proved  dishonorable.     In 


172  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

all  probability  there  would  be  no  great  sensation 
about  the  matter.  Delamere  was  too  well  connected ; 
too  many  prominent  i3eoj)le  would  be  involved,  —  even 
Clara,  and  the  editor  himself,  of  whom  Delamere  was 
a  distant  cousin.  The  reputation  of  the  club  was  also 
to  be  considered.  Ellis  was  not  the  man  to  feel  a 
malicious  delight  in  the  misfortunes  of  another,  nor 
was  he  a  pessimist  who  welcomed  scandal  and  dis- 
grace with  open  arms,  as  confirming  a  gloomy  theory 
of  human  life.  But,  with  the  best  intentions  in  the 
world,  it  was  no  more  than  human  nature  that  he 
should  feel  a  certain  elation  in  the  thought  that  his 
rival  had  been  practically  disposed  of,  and  the  field 
left  clear ;  especially  since  this  good  situation  had 
been  brought  about  merely  by  the  unmasking  of  a 
hypocrite,  who  had  held  him  at  an  unfair  disadvan- 
tage in  the  race  for  Clara's  favor. 

The  night  was  quiet,  except  for  the  faint  sound  of 
distant  music  now  and  then,  or  the  mellow  laughter  of 
some  group  of  revelers.  Ellis  met  but  few  pedestri- 
ans, but  as  he  neared  old  Mr.  Delamere's,  he  saw  two 
men  walking  in  the  same  direction  as  his  own,  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  street.  He  had  observed  that 
they  kept  at  about  an  equal  distance  apart,  and  that 
the  second,  from  the  stealthy  manner  in  which  he  was 
making  his  way,  was  anxious  to  keep  the  first  in  sight, 
without  disclosing  his  own  presence.  This  aroused 
Ellis's  curiosity,  which  was  satisfied  in  some  degree 
when  the  ma,n  in  advance  stopped  beneath  a  lamp-post 
and  stood  for  a  moment  looking  across  the  street,  with 
his  face  plainly  visible  in  the  yellow  circle  of  light. 
It  was  a  dark  face,  and  Ellis  recognized  it  instantly 
as  that  of  old  Mr.  Delamere's  body  servant,  whose 
personal  appearance  had  been  very  vividly  impressed 


A  MIDNIGHT  WALK  173 

upon  Ellis  at  the  christening  dinner  at  Major  Car- 
teret's. He  had  seen  Sandy  once  since,  too,  at  the 
hotel  Cakewalk.  The  negro  had  a  small  bundle  in  his 
hand,  the  nature  of  which  Ellis  could  not  make  out. 

When  Sandy  had  stopped  beneath  the  lamp-post, 
the  man  who  was  following  him  had  dodged  behind  a 
tree-trunk.  When  Sandy  moved  on,  Ellis,  who  had 
stopped  in  turn,  saw  the  man  in  hiding  come  out  and 
follow  Sandy.  When  this  second  man  came  in  range 
of  the  light,  Ellis  wondered  that  there  should  be 
two  men  so  much  alike.  The  first  of  the  two  had 
undoubtedly  been  Sandy.  Ellis  had  recognized  the 
peculiar,  old-fashioned  coat  that  Sandy  had  worn 
upon  the  two  occasions  when  he  had  noticed  him. 
Barring  this  difference,  and  the  somewhat  unsteady 
gait  of  the  second  man,  the  two  were  as  much  alike  as 
twin  brothers. 

When  they  had  entered  Mr.  Delamere's  house,  one 
after  the  other,  —  in  the  stillness  of  the  night  Ellis 
could  perceive  that  each  of  them  tried  to  make  as  lit- 
tle noise  as  possible,  —  Ellis  supposed  that  they  were 
probably  relatives,  both  employed  as  servants,  or 
that  some  younger  negro,  taking  Sandy  for  a  model, 
was  trying  to  pattern  himself  after  his  superior. 
Why  all  this  mystery,  of  course  he  could  not  imagine, 
unless  the  younger  man  had  been  out  without  permis- 
sion and  was  trying  to  avoid  the  accusing  eye  of 
Sandy.  Ellis  was  vaguely  conscious  that  he  had  seen 
the  other  negro  somewhere,  but  he  could  not  for  the 
moment  place  him,  —  there  were  so  many  negroes, 
nearly  three  negroes  to  one  white  man  in  the  city  of 
Wellington ! 

The  subject,  however,  while  curious,  was  not  im- 
portant as  compared  with  the  thoughts  of  his  sweet- 


174  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

heart  which  drove  it  from  his  mind.  Clara  had  been 
kind  to  him  the  night  before,  —  whatever  her  motive, 
she  had  been  kind,  and  coukl  not  consistently  return 
to  her  attitude  of  coldness.  With  Delamere  hope- 
lessly discredited,  Ellis  hoped  to  have  at  least  fair 
play,  —  with  fair  play,  he  would  take  his  chances  of 
the  outcome. 


XX 

A   SHOCKING   CRIME 

On  Friday  morning,  when  old  Mrs.  Ochiltree's 
cook  Dinah  went  to  wake  her  mistress,  she  was  con- 
fronted with  a  sight  that  well-nigh  blanched  her 
ebony  cheek  and  caused  her  eyes  almost  to  start  from 
her  head  with  horror.  As  soon  as  she  could  com- 
mand her  trembling  limbs  sufficiently  to  make  them 
carry  her,  she  rushed  out  of  the  house  and  down  the 
street,  bareheaded,  covering  in  an  incredibly  short 
time  the  few  blocks  that  separated  Mrs.  Ochiltree's 
residence  from  that  of  her  niece. 

She  hastened  around  the  house,  and  finding  the 
back  door  open  and  the  servants  stirring,  ran  into  the 
house  and  up  the  stairs  with  the  familiarity  of  an  old 
servant,  not  stopping  until  she  reached  the  door  of 
Mrs.  Carteret's  chamber,  at  which  she  knocked  in 
grea,t  agitation. 

Entering  in  response  to  Mrs.  Carteret's  invitation, 
she  found  the  lady,  dressed  in  a  simple  wrapper, 
superintending  the  morning  toilet  of  little  Dodie,  who 
was  a  wakeful  child,  and  insisted  upon  rising  with  the 
birds,  for  whose  music  he  still  showed  a  great  fond- 
ness, in  spite  of  his  narrow  escape  while  listening  to 
the  mockingbird. 

"  What  is  it,  Dinah?  "  asked  Mrs.  Carteret,  alarmed 
at  the  frightened  face  of  her  aunt's  old  servitor. 

*'  0  my  Lawd,  Mis'  'Livy,  my  Lawd,  my  Lawd  I 


176  THE  MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

My  legs  is  trlm'lin'  so  dat  I  can't  ha'cUy  hor  my 
ban's  stiddy  'nough  ter  say  w'at  I  got  ter  say !  O 
Lawd  have  mussy  on  us  po'  sinners  !  Watever  is 
gwine  ter  happen  in  dis  worl'  er  sin  an'  sorrer  !  " 

"  What  in  the  world  is  the  matter,  Dinah  ? "  de- 
manded Mrs.  Carteret,  whose  own  excitement  had 
increased  with  the  length  of  this  preamble.  "  Has 
anything  happened  to  Aunt  Polly  ?  " 

"  Somebody  done  broke  in  de  house  las'  night,  Mis' 
'Livy,  an'  kill'  Mis'  Polly,  an'  lef  her  layin'  dead  on 
de  flo',  in  her  own  blood,  wid  her  cedar  chis'  broke' 
open,  an'  eve'thing  scattered  roun'  de  flo' !  O  my 
Lawd,  my  Lawd,  my  Lawd,  my  Lawd !  " 

Mrs.  Carteret  was  shocked  beyond  expression. 
Perhaps  the  spectacle  of  Dinah's  unrestrained  terror 
aided  her  to  retain  a  greater  measure  of  self-control 
than  she  might  otherwise  have  been  capable  of. 
Giving  the  nurse  some  directions  in  regard  to  the 
child,  she  hastily  descended  the  stairs,  and  seizing  a 
hat  and  jacket  from  the  rack  in  the  hall,  ran  immedi- 
ately with  Dinah  to  the  scene  of  the  tragedy.  Before 
the  thouo:ht  of  this  violent  death  all  her  aunt's  faults 
faded  into  insignificance,  and  only  her  good  qualities 
were  remembered.  She  had  reared  Olivia ;  she  had 
stood  up  for  the  memory  of  Olivia's  mother  when 
others  had  seemed  to  forget  what  was  due  to  it.  To 
her  niece  she  had  been  a  second  mother,  and  had 
never  been  lacking  in  affection. 

More  than  one  motive,  however,  lent  wings  to  Mrs. 
Carteret's  feet.  Her  aunt's  incomplete  disclosures  on 
the  day  of  the  drive  past  the  hospital  had  been  weigh- 
ing upon  Mrs.  Carteret's  mind,  and  she  had  intended 
to  make  another  effort  this  very  day,  to  get  an  answer 
to  her  question  about  the  papers  which  the  woman  had 


A  SHOCKING  CRIME  177 

claimed  were  in  existence.  Siii)pose  her  aunt  had 
really  found  such  papers,  —  papers  which  would  seem 
to  prove  the  preposterous  claim  made  by  her  father's 
mulatto  mistress  ?  Suppose  that,  with  the  fatuity 
which  generally  leads  human  beings  to  keep  compro- 
mising documents,  her  aunt  had  preserved  these 
papers  ?  If  they  should  be  found  there  in  the  house, 
there  might  be  a  scandal,  if  nothing  worse,  and  this 
was  to  be  avoided  at  all  ha'zards. 

Guided  by  some  fortunate  instinct,  Dinah  had  as  yet 
informed  no  one  but  Mrs.  Carteret  of  her  discovery. 
If  they  could  reach  the  house  before  the  murder  be- 
came known  to  any  third  person,  she  might  be  the  first 
to  secure  access  to  the  remaining  contents  of  the  cedar 
chest,  which  would  be  likely  to  be  held  as  evidence  in 
case  the  officers  of  the  law  forestalled  her  own  arrival. 

They  found  the  house  wrapped  in  the  silence  of 
death.  Mrs.  Carteret  entered  the  chamber  of  the 
dead  woman.  Upon  the  floor,  where  it  had  fallen, 
lay  the  body  in  a  pool  of  blood,  the  strongly  marked 
countenance  scarcely  more  grim  in  the  rigidity  of 
death  than  it  had  been  in  life.  A  gaping  wound  in 
the  head  accounted  easily  for  the  death.  The  cedar 
chest  stood  open,  its  strong  fastenings  having  been 
broken  by  a  steel  bar  which  still  lay  beside  it.  Near 
it  were  scattered  pieces  of  old  lace,  antiquated  jewelry, 
tarnished  silverware,  —  the  various  mute  souvenirs 
of  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  a  long  and  active  life. 

Kneeling  by  the  open  chest,  Mrs.  Carteret  glanced 
hurriedly  through  its  contents.  There  were  no  papers 
there  except  a  few  old  deeds  and  letters.  She  had 
risen  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  when  she  perceived  the 
end  of  a  paper  projecting  from  beneath  the  edge  of  a 
rug  which  had  been  carelessly  rumpled,  probably  by 


178  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

the  burglar  in  his  hasty  search  for  plunder.  This 
paper,  or  sealed  envelope  as  it  proved  to  be,  which 
evidently  contained  some  inclosure,  she  seized,  and  at 
the  sound  of  approaching  footsteps  thrust  hastily  into 
her  own  bosom. 

The  sight  of  two  agitated  women  rushing  through 
the  quiet  streets  at  so  early  an  hour  in  the  morning 
had  attracted  attention  and  aroused  curiosity,  and 
the  story  of  the  murder,  having  once  become  known, 
spread  with  the  customary  rapidity  of  bad  news.  Very 
soon  a  policeman,  and  a  little  later  a  sheriff's  officer, 
arrived  at  the  house  and  took  charge  of  the  remains 
to  await  the  arrival  of  the  coroner. 

By  nine  o'clock  a  coroner's  jury  had  been  sum- 
moned, who,  after  bi'ief  deliberation,  returned  a  ver- 
dict of  willful  murder  at  the  hands  of  some  person  or 
persons  unknown,  while  engaged  in  the  commission  of 
a  burglary. 

No  sooner  was  the  verdict  announced  than  the  com- 
munity, or  at  least  the  white  third  of  it,  resolved  itself 
spontaneously  into  a  committee  of  the  whole  to  dis- 
cover the  perpetrator  of  this  dastardly  crime,  which, 
at  this  stage  of  the  affair,  seemed  merely  one  of  robbery 
and  murder. 

Suspicion  was  at  once  directed  toward  the  negroes, 
as  it  always  is  when  an  unexplained  crime  is  commit- 
ted^ in  a  Southern  community.  The  suspicion  was  not 
entirely  an  illogical  one.  Haviug  been,  for  genera- 
tions, trained  up  to  thriftlessness,  theft,  and  immor- 
ality, against  which  only  thirty  years  of  very  limited 
opportunity  can  be  offset,  during  which  brief  period 
they  have  been  denied  in  large  measure  the  healthful 
social  stimulus  and  sympathy  which  holds  most  men 
in  the  path  of  rectitude,  colored  peoj)le  might  reason- 


A  SHOCKING  CRIME  179 

ably  be  expected  to  commit  at  least  a  share  of  crime 
proportionate  to  their  numbers.  The  population  of 
the  town  was  at  least  two  thirds  colored.  The  chances 
were,  therefore,  in  the  absence  of  evidence,  at  least 
two  to  one  that  a  man  of  color  had  committed  the 
crime.  The  Southern  tendency  to  charge  the  negroes 
with  all  the  crime  and  immorality  of  that  region,  unjust 
and  exaggerated  as  the  claim  may  be,  was  therefore  not 
without  a  logical  basis  to  the  extent  above  indicated. 

It  must  not  be  imagined  that  any  logic  was  needed, 
or  any  reasoning  consciously  worked  out.  The  mere 
suggestion  that  the  crime  had  been  committed  by  a 
negro  was  equivalent  to  proof  against  any  negro  that 
might  be  suspected  and  could  not  prove  his  innocence. 
A  committee  of  white  men  was  hastily  formed.  Act- 
ing independently  of  the  police  force,  which  was 
practically  ignored  as  likely  to  favor  the  negroes,  this 
committee  set  to  work  to  discover  the  murderer. 

The  spontaneous  activity  of  the  whites  was  accom- 
panied by  a  visible  shrinkage  of  the  colored  population. 
This  could  not  be  taken  as  any  indication  of  guilt, 
but  was  merely  a  recognition  of  the  palpable  fact  that 
the  American  habit  of  lynching  had  so  whetted  the 
thirst  for  black  blood  that  a  negro  suspected  of  crime 
had  to  face  at  least  the  possibility  of  a  short  shrift  and 
a  long  rope,  not  to  mention  more  gruesome  horrors, 
without  the  intervention  of  judge  or  jury.  Since  to 
have  a  black  face  at  such  a  time  was  to  challens'e  sus- 
picion,  and  since  there  was  neither  the  martyr's  glory 
nor  the  saint's  renown  in  being  killed  for  some  one 
else's  crime,  and  very  little  hope  of  successful  resistance 
in  case  of  an  attempt  at  lynching,  it  was  obviously  the 
part  of  prudence  for  those  thus  marked  to  seek  immun- 
ity in  a  temporary  disappearance  from  public  view. 


XXI 

THE    NECESSITY   OF   AN   EXA^IPLE 

About  ten  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  the  discovery 
of  the  murder,  Cajitain  McBane  and  General  Belmont, 
as  though  moved  by  a  common  impulse,  found  them- 
selves at  the  office  of  the  Morning  Chronicle.  Car- 
teret was  expecting  them,  though  there  had  been 
no  appointment  made.  These  three  resourceful  and 
energetic  minds,  representing  no  organized  body,  and 
clothed  with  no  legal  authority,  had  so  completely 
arrogated  to  themselves  the  leadership  of  white  pub- 
lic sentiment  as  to  come  together  instinctively  wdien 
an  event  happened  which  concerned  the  public,  and, 
as  this  murder  presumably  did,  involved  the  matter  of 
race. 

"  Well,  gentlemen,"  demanded  McBane  impatiently, 
"  what  are  we  going  to  do  with  the  scoundrel  when  we 
catch  him  ?  " 

"  They  've  got  the  murderer,"  announced  a  reporter, 
entering  the  room. 

"  Who  is  he  ?  "  they  demanded  in  a  breath. 

"  A  nigger  by  the  name  of  Sandy  Campbell,  a  ser- 
vant of  old  Mr.  Delamere." 

"  How  did  they  catch  him  ?  " 

"  Our  Jerry  saw  him  last  night,  going  toward  Mrs. 
Ochiltree's  house,  and  a  white  man  saw  him  coming 
away,  half  an  hour  later.'* 

"  Has  he  confessed  ?  " 


THE   NECESSITY  OF  AN  EXAMPLE  181 

"  No,  but  lie  might  as  well.  When  the  posse  went 
to  arrest  him,  they  found  him  cleaning  the  clothes  he 
had  worn  last  night,  and  discovered  in  his  room  a 
part  of  the  plunder.  He  denies  it  strenuously,  but  it 
seems  a  clear  case." 

"  There  can  be  no  doubt,"  said  Ellis,  who  had  come 
into  the  room  behind  the  reporter.  "  I  saw  the  negro 
last  night,  at  twelve  o'clock,  going  into  Mr.  Delamere's 
yard,  with  a  bundle  in  his  hand." 

"  He  is  the  last  negro  I  should  have  suspected," 
said  Carteret.  "  Mr.  Delamere  had  implicit  confi- 
dence in  him." 

"  All  niggers  are  alike,"  remarked  McBane  senten- 
tiously.  "  The  only  way  to  keep  them  from  stealing 
is  not  to  give  them  the  chance.  A  nigger  will  steal  a 
cent  off  a  dead  man's  eye.  He  has  assaulted  and 
murdered  a  white  woman,  —  an  example  should  be 
made  of  him." 

Carteret  recalled  very  distinctly  the  presence  of  this 
negro  at  his  own  residence  on  the  occasion  of  little 
Theodore's  christening  dinner.  He  remembered  hav- 
ing questioned  the  prudence  of  letting  a  servant  know 
that  Mrs.  Ochiltree  kept  money  in  the  house.  Mr. 
Delamere  had  insisted  strenuously  upon  the  honesty 
of  this  particular  negro.  The  whole  race,  in  the 
major's  opinion,  was  morally  undeveloped,  and  only 
held  within  bounds  by  the  restraining  influence  of  the 
white  people.  Under  Mr.  Delamere's  thumb  this 
Sandy  had  been  a  model  servant,  —  faithful,  docile, 
respectful,  and  self-respecting ;  but  Mr.  Delamere 
had  grown  old,  and  had  probably  lost  in  a  measure 
his  moral  influence  over  his  servant.  Left  to  his  own 
degraded  ancestral  instincts,  Sandy  had  begun  to  de- 
teriorate, and  a  rapid  decline  had  culminated  in  this 


182  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

robbery  and  murder,  —  and  who  knew  what  other 
horror  ?  The  criminal  was  a  negro,  the  victim  a  white 
woman  ;  —  it  was  only  reasonable  to  expect  the  worst. 

"  He  '11  swing  for  it,"  observed  the  general. 

Ellis  went  into  another  room,  where  his  duty  called 
him. 

"  He  should  burn  for  it,"  averred  McBane.  "  I 
say,  burn  the  nigger." 

"  This,"  said  Carteret,  "  is  something  more  than  an 
ordinary  crime,  to  be  dealt  with  by  the  ordinary  pro- 
cesses of  law.  It  is  a  murderous  and  fatal  assault  upon 
a  woman  of  our  race,  —  upon  our  race  in  the  person 
of  its  womanhood,  its  crown  and  flower.  If  such 
crimes  are  not  punished  with  swift  and  terrible  direct- 
ness, the  whole  white  womanhood  of  the  South  is  in 
danger." 

"  Burn  the  nigger,"  repeated  McBane  automati- 
cally. 

"  Neither  is  this  a  mere  sporadic  crime,"  Carteret 
went  on.  "  It  is  symptomatic ;  it  is  the  logical  and 
inevitable  result  of  the  conditions  which  have  pre- 
vailed in  this  town  for  the  past  year.  It  is  the  last 
straw." 

"  Burn  the  nigger,"  reiterated  McBane.  "  We 
seem  to  have  the  right  nigger,  but  whether  we  have 
or  not,  burn  a  nigger.  It  is  an  assault  upon  the 
white  race,  in  the  person  of  old  Mrs.  Ochiltree,  com- 
mitted by  the  black  race,  in  the  person  of  some  nig- 
ger. It  would  justify  the  white  people  in  burning 
any  nigger.  The  example  would  be  all  the  more 
powerful  if  we  got  the  wrong  one.  It  would  serve 
notice  on  the  nioofers  that  we  shall  hold  the  whole 
race  responsible  for  the  misdeeds  of -each  individual." 

"  In  ancient   Rome,"   said  the  general,   "  when   a 


THE   NECESSITY   OF  AN   EXAMPLE  183 

master  was  killed  by  a  slave,  all  his  slaves  were  put  to 
the  sword." 

"  We  could  n't  afford  that  before  the  war,"  said 
McBane,  "  but  the  niggers  don't  belong  to  anybody 
now,  and  there  's  nothing  to  prevent  our  doing  as  we 
please  with  them.  A  dead  nigger  is  no  loss  to  any 
white  man.     I  say,  burn  the  nigger." 

"  I  do  not  believe,"  said  Carteret,  who  had  gone  to 
the  window  and  was  looking  out,  —  "  I  do  not  believe 
that  we  need  trouble  ourselves  personally  about  his 
13unishment.  I  should  judge,  from  the  commotion  in 
the  street,  that  the  j^ublic  will  take  the  matter  into  its 
own  hands.  I,  for  one,  would  prefer  that  any  vio- 
lence, however  justifiable,  should  take  place  without 
my  active  intervention." 

"  It  won't  take  place  without  mine,  if  I  know  it," 
exclaimed  McBane,  starting  for  the  door. 

"  Hold  on  a  minute,  captain,"  exclaimed  Carteret. 
"  There  's  more  at  stake  in  this  matter  than  the  life 
of  a  black  scoundrel.  Wellington  is  in  the  hands  of 
negroes  and  scalawags.  What  better  time  to  rescue 
it?" 

"  It 's  a  trifle  premature,"  replied  the  general.  "  I 
should  have  preferred  to  have  this  take  place,  if  it 
was  to  happen,  say  three  months  hence,  on  the  eve  of 
the  election,  —  but  discussion  always  provokes  thirst 
with  me  ;  I  wonder  if  I  could  get  Jerry  to  bring  us 
some  drinks  ?  " 

Carteret  summoned  the  porter,  elerry's  usual  man- 
ner had  taken  on  an  element  of  self-importance, 
resultinof  in  what  one  mioht  describe  as  a  sort  of  con- 
descending  obsequiousness.  Though  still  a  porter,  he 
was  also  a  hero,  and  wore  his  aureole. 

"  Jerry,"  said  the  general  kindly,  "  the  white  peo- 


184  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

pie  are  very  much  pleased  with  the  assistance  you  have 
given  them  in  apj)rehending  this  scoundrel  Campbell. 
You  have  rendered  a  great  public  service,  Jerry,  and 
we  wish  you  to  know  that  it  is  appreciated." 

"  Thank  y',  gin'l,  thank  y',  suh  !  I  alluz  tries  ter 
do  my  duty,  suh,  an'  stan'  by  dem  dat  stan's  by  me. 
Dat  low-down  nigger  oughter  be  lynch',  suh,  don't 
you  think,  er  e'se  bu'nt  ?  Dere  ain'  nothin'  too  bad 
ter  happen  ter  'im." 

"  No  doubt  he  will  be  punished  as  he  deserves, 
Jerry,"  returned  the  general,  "  and  we  will  see  that 
you  are  suitably  rewarded.  Go  across  the  street  and 
get  me  three  Calhoun  cocktails.  I  seem  to  have 
nothing  less  than  a  two-dollar  bill,  but  you  may  keep 
the  change,  Jerry,  —  all  the  change." 

Jerry  was  very  happy.  He  had  distinguished  him- 
self in  the  public  view,  for  to  Jerry,  as  to  the  white 
people  themselves,  the  white  people  were  the  public. 
He  had  won  the  goodwill  of  the  best  people,  and  had 
already  begun  to  reap  a  tangible  reward.  It  is  true 
that  several  strange  white  men  looked  at  him  with 
lowering  brows  as  he  crossed  the  street,  which  was 
curiously  empty  of  colored  people  ;  but  he  neverthe- 
less went  firmly  forward,  panoplied  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  his  own  rectitude,  and  serenely  confident  of 
the  protection  of  the  major  and  the  major's  friends. 

"  Jerry  is  about  the  only  negro  I  have  seen  since 
nine  o'clock,"  observed  the  general  when  the  porter 
had  gone.  "  If  this  were  election  day,  where  would 
the  negro  vote  be  ?  " 

"  In  hiding,  where  most  of  the  negro  population  is 
to-day,"  answered  McBane.  "  It 's  a  pity,  if  old  Mrs. 
Ochiltree  had  to  go  this  way,  that  it  could  n't  have 
been  deferred  a  month  or  six  weeks." 


THE  NECESSITY   OF  AN  EXAMPLE  185 

Carteret  frowned  at  this  remark,  which,  coming 
from  McBane,  seemed  lacking  in  human  feeling,  as 
well  as  in  respect  to  his  wife's  dead  relative. 

"  But,"  resumed  the  general,  "  if  this  negro  is 
lynched,  as  he  well  deserves  to  be,  it  will  not  be  with- 
out its  effect.  We  still  have  in  reserve  for  the  elec- 
tion a  weapon  which  this  affair  will  only  render  more 
effective.  What  became  of  the  piece  in  the  negro 
paper  ?  " 

"  I  have  it  here,"  answered  Carteret.  "  I  was  just 
about  to  use  it  as  the  text  for  an  editorial." 

"  Save  it  awhile  longer,"  responded  the  general. 
"  This  crime  itself  will  give  you  text  enough  for  a 
four-volume  w^ork." 

When  this  conference  ended,  Carteret  immediately 
put  into  press  an  extra  edition  of  the  Morning 
Chronicle,  which  was  soon  upon  the  streets,  giving 
details  of  the  crime,  which  was  characterized  as  an 
atrocious  assault  upon  a  defenseless  old  lady,  whose 
age  and  sex  would  have  protected  her  from  harm  at 
the  hands  of  any  one  but  a  brute  in  the  lowest  human 
form.  •  This  event,  the  Chronicle  suggested,  had  only 
confirmed  the  opinion,  which  had  been  of  late  growing 
upon  the  white  people,  that  drastic  efforts  were  neces- 
sary to  protect  the  white  women  of  the  South  against 
brutal,  lascivious,  and  murderous  assaults  at  the  hands 
of  negro  men.  It  was  only  another  significant  example 
of  the  results  which  might  have  been  foreseen  from 
the  application  of  a  false  and  pernicious  political 
theory,  by  which  ignorance,  clothed  in  a  little  brief 
authority,  was  sought  to  be  exalted  over  knowledge, 
vice  over  virtue,  an  inferior  and  degraded  race  above 
the  heaven-crowned  Anglo-Saxon.  If  an  outraged 
people,  justly  infuriated,  and  impatient  of  the  slow 


186  THE   MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

processes  of  the  courts,  should  assert  their  inherent 
sovereignty,  which  the  law  after  all  was  merely  in- 
tended to  embody,  and  should  choose,  in  obedience  to 
the  higher  law,  to  set  aside,  temporarily,  the  ordinary 
judicial  procedure,  it  would  serve  as  a  warning  and 
an  example  to  the  vicious  elements  of  the  community, 
of  the  swift  and  terrible  punishment  which  would  fall, 
like  the  judgment  of  God,  upon  any  one  who  laid 
sacrilegious  hands  upon  white  womanhood. 


XXII 

HOW  NOT  TO  PREVENT  A  LYNCHING 

Dr.  Miller,  who  had  sat  up  late  the  night  before 
with  a  difficult  case  at  the  hospital,  was  roused,  about 
eleven  o'clock,  from  a  deep  and  dreamless  sleep. 
Struggling  back  into  consciousness,  he  was  informed 
by  his  wife,  who  stood  by  his  bedside,  that  Mr.  Wat- 
son, the  colored  lawyer,  wished  to  see  him  upon  a 
matter  of  great  importance. 

"Nothing  but  a  matter  of  life  and  death  would 
make  me  get  up  just  now,"  he  said  with  a  portentous 
yawn. 

"  This  is  a  matter  of  life  and  death,"  replied  Janet. 
"  Old  Mrs.  Polly  Ochiltree  was  robbed  and  murdered 
last  night,  and  Sandy  Campbell  has  been  arrested  for 
the  crime,  —  and  they  are  going  to  lynch  him !  " 

"  Tell  AYatson  to  come  right  up,"  exclaimed  Miller, 
springing  out  of  bed.  "  We  can  talk  while  I  'm 
dressing." 

While  ^Miller  made  a  hasty  toilet  Watson  explained 
the  situation.  Campbell  had  been  arrested  on  the 
charge  of  murder.  He  had  been  seen,  during  the 
night,  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  scene  of  the  crime, 
by  two  different  persons,  a  negro  and  a  white  man, 
and  had  been  identified  later  while  entering  Mr.  Dela- 
mere's  house,  where  he  lived,  and  where  damning  proofs 
of  his  guilt  had  been  discovered ;  the  most  important 
item  of  which  was  an  old-fashioned  knit  silk  purse, 


188  THE  MAEROW  OF  TRADITION 

recognized  as  Mrs.  Ochiltree's,  and  several  gold  pieces 
of  early  coinage,  of  which  the  murdered  woman  was 
known  to  have  a  number.  Watson  brought  with  him 
one  of  the  first  copies  procurable  of  the  extra  edition 
of  the  Chronicle,  which  contained  these  facts  and 
further  information. 

They  were  still  talking  when  Mrs.  Miller,  knocking 
at  the  door,  announced  that  big  Josh  Green  wished 
to  see  the  doctor  about  Sandy  Campbell.  Miller  took 
his  collar  and  necktie  in  his  hand  and  went  down- 
stairs, where  Josh  sat  waiting. 

"  Doctuh,"  said  Green,  "  de  w'ite  folks  is  talkin' 
'bout  lynchin'  Sandy  Campbell  fer  killin'  ole  Mis' 
Ochiltree.  He  never  done  it,  an'  dey  ought  n'  ter  be 
'lowed  ter  lynch  'im." 

"  They  ought  not  to  lynch  him,  even  if  he  com- 
mitted the  crime,"  returned  Miller,  "  but  still  less  if 
he  did  n't.     What  do  you  know  about  it?  " 

"  I  know  he  was  wid  me,  suh,  las'  night,  at  de  time 
when  dey  say  ole  Mis'  Ochiltree  wuz  killed.  We  wuz 
down  ter  Sam  Taylor's  place,  havin'  a  little  game  of 
kyards  an'  a  little  liquor.  Den  we  lef  dere  an'  went 
up  ez  fur  ez  de  corner  er  Main  an'  Vine  Streets, 
where  we  pa'ted,  an'  Sandy  went  'long  to'ds  home. 
Mo'over,  dey  say  he  had  on  check'  britches  an'  a  blue 
coat.  When  Sandy  wuz  wid  me  he  had  on  gray  clo's, 
an'  when  we  sep'rated  he  wa'n't  in  no  shape  ter  be 
changin'  his  clo's,  let  'lone  robbin'  er  killin'  anybody." 

"  Your  testimony  ought  to  prove  an  alibi  for  him," 
declared  Miller. 

"  Dere  ain'  gwine  ter  be  no  chance  ter  prove  nothin', 
'less'n  we  kin  do  it  mighty  quick !  Dey  say  dey  're 
gwine  ter  lynch  'im  ter-night,  —  some  on  'em  is 
talkin'  'bout  burnin'  'im.     My  idee  is  ter  hunt  up  de 


HOW  NOT  TO   PREVENT  A  LYNCHING        189 

niggers  an'  git  'em  ter  stan'  tergether  an'  gyard  de 
jail." 

"  Why  should  n't  we  go  to  the  principal  white  people 
of  the  town  and  tell  them  Josh's  story,  and  appeal  to 
them  to  stop  this  thing  until  Campbell  can  have  a 
hearing  ?  " 

"  It  would  n't  do  any  good,"  said  Watson  despond- 
ently ;  "  their  blood  is  up.  It  seems  that  some  colored 
man  attacked  Mrs.  Ochiltree,  —  and  he  was  a  murder- 
ous villain,  whoever  he  may  be.  To  quote  Josh  would 
destroy  the  effect  of  his  story,  —  we  know  he  never 
harmed  any  one  but  himself  "  — 

"  An'  a  few  keerliss  people  w'at  got  in  my  way," 
corrected  Josh. 

"  He  has  been  in  court  several  times  for  fighting, 
—  and  that 's  against  him.  To  have  been  at  Sam  Tay- 
lor's place  is  against  Sandy,  too,  rather  than  in  his 
favor.  No,  Josh,  the  white  people  would  believe  that 
you  were  trying  to  shield  Sandy,  and  you  would  prob- 
ably be  arrested  as  an  accomplice." 

''  But  look  a-here,  Mr.  Watson,  —  Dr.  Miller,  is 
we-all  jes'  got  ter  set  down  here,  widout  openin'  ou' 
mouths,  an'  let  dese  w'ite  folks  hang  er  bu'n  a  man 
w'at  we  knoio  ain'  guilty  ?  Dat  ain't  no  law,  ner 
jestice,  ner  nothin' !  Ef  you-all  won't  he'p,  I  '11  do 
somethin'  myse'f  !  Dere  's  two  niggers  ter  one  white 
man  in  dis  town,  an'  I  'm  sho'  I  kin  fin'  fifty  of  'em 
w'at  '11  fight,  ef  dey  kin  fin'  anybody  ter  lead  'em." 

"  Now  hold  on.  Josh,"  argued  Miller  ;  "  what  is  to 
be  gained  by  fighting  ?  Suppose  you  got  your  crowd 
together  and  surrounded  the  jail,  —  what  then  ?  " 

"  There  'd  be  a  clash,"  declared  Watson,  "  and  in- 
stead of  one  dead  negro  there  'd  be  fifty.  The  white 
people  are  claiming  now  that  Campbell  did  n't  stop  with 


190  THE  MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

robbery  and  murder.  A  special  edition  of  the  Morn- 
ing Chronicle,  just  out,  suggests  a  further  purpose, 
and  has  all  the  old  shopworn  cant  about  race  purity 
and  supremacy  and  imperative  necessity,  which  always 
comes  to  the  front  whenever  it  is  sought  to  justify 
some  outrage  on  the  colored  folks.  The  blood  of  the 
whites  is  up,  I  tell  you  !  " 

"  Is  there  anything  to  that  suggestion  ? "  asked 
Miller  incredulously. 

"  It  does  n't  matter  whether  there  is  or  not,"  re- 
turned Watson.  ''Merely  to  suggest  it  proves  it. 
Nothing  was  said  about  this  feature  until  the  paper 
came  out,  —  and  even  its  statement  is  vague  and  in- 
definite, —  but  now  the  claim  is  in  every  mouth.  I 
met  only  black  looks  as  I  came  down  the  street. 
White  men  with  whom  I  have  long  been  on  friendly 
terms  passed  me  without  a  word.  A  negro  has  been 
arrested  on  suspicion,  —  the  entire  race  is  condemned 
on  general  principles." 

"The  whole  thing  is  profoundly  discouraging,"  said 
Miller  sadly.  "  Try  as  we  may  to  build  up  the  race 
in  the  essentials  of  good  citizenship  and  win  the  good 
opinion  of  the  best  people,  some  black  scoundrel  comes 
along,  and  by  a  single  criminal  act,  committed  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye,  neutralizes  the  effect  of  a  whole 
year's  work." 

"  It 's  mighty  easy  neut'alize',  er  whatever  you  call 
it,"  said  Josh  sullenly.  "  De  w'ite  folks  don'  want  too 
good  an  opinion  er  de  niggers,  —  ef  dey  had  a  good 
opinion  of  'em,  dey  would  n'  have  no  excuse  fer  'busin' 
an'  hangin'  an'  burnin'  'em.  But  ef  dey  can't  keep  from 
doin'  it,  let  'em  git  de  right  man  !  Dis  way  er  pickin' 
up  de  fus'  nigger  dey  comes  across,  an'  stringin'  'im  up 
rega'dliss,  ought  ter  be  stop',  an'  stop'  right  now ! " 


HOW  NOT  TO   PREVENT   A  LYNCHING        191 

"  Yes,  that 's  the  worst  of  lynch  law,"  said  Watson  ; 
"  but  we  are  wasting  valuable  time,  —  it 's  hardly 
worth  while  for  us  to  discuss  a  subject  we  are  all 
agreed  upon.  One  of  our  race,  accused  of  certain 
acts,  is  about  to  be  put  to  death  without  judge  or  jury, 
ostensibly  because  he  committed  a  crime,  —  really 
because  he  is  a  negro,  for  if  he  were  white  he  would 
not  be  lynched.  It  is  thus  made  a  race  issue,  on  the 
one  side  as  well  as  on  the  other.  What  can  we  do  to 
protect  him?" 

"  We  kin  fight,  ef  we  haf  ter,"  replied  Josh  reso- 
lutely. 

"  Well,  now,  let  us  see.  Suppose  the  colored  peo- 
ple armed  themselves  ?  Messages  would  at  once  be 
sent  to  every  town  and  county  in  the  neighborhood. 
White  men  from  all  over  the  state,  armed  to  the 
teeth,  would  at  the  slightest  word  pour  into  town  on 
every  railroad  train,  and  extras  would  be  run  for  their 
benefit." 

"  They  're  already  coming  in,"  said  Watson. 

"  We  might  go  to  the  sheriff,"  suggested  Miller, 
"  and  demand  that  he  telegraph  the  governor  to  call 
out  the  militia." 

"  I  spoke  to  the  sheriff  an  hour  ago,"  replied  Wat- 
son. "  He  has  a  white  face  and  a  whiter  liver.  He 
does  not  dare  call  out  the  militia  to  protect  a  negro 
charged  with  such  a  brutal  crime  ;  —  and  if  he  did,  the 
militia  are  white  men,  and  who  can  say  that  their 
efforts  would  not  be  directed  to  keeping  the  negroes 
out  of  the  way,  in  order  that  the  white  devils  might 
do  their  worst  ?  The  whole  machinery  of  the  state  is 
in  the  hands  of  white  men,  elected  partly  by  our  votes. 
When  the  color  line  is  drawn,  if  they  choose  to  stand 
together  with  the  rest  of  their  race  against  us,  or  to 


192  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

remain  passive  and  let  the  others  work  their  will,  we 
are  helpless,  —  our  cause  is  hopeless." 

"  We  might  call  on  the  general  government,"  said 
Miller.     "  Surely  the  President  would  intervene." 

"  Such  a  demand  would  be  of  no  avail,"  returned 
Watson.  "  The  government  can  only  intervene  under 
certain  conditions,  of  which  it  must  be  informed 
through  designated  channels.  It  never  sees  anything 
that  is  not  officially  called  to  its  attention.  The  whole 
negro  population  of  the  South  might  be  slaughtered 
before  the  necessary  red  tape  could  be  spun  out  to 
inform  the  President  that  a  state  of  anarchy  pre- 
vailed.    There 's  no  hope  there." 

"Den  w'at  we  gwine  ter  do?"  demanded  Josh  in- 
dignantly ;  "  jes'  set  here  an'  let  'em  hang  Sandy,  er 
bu'n'im?" 

"  God  knows !  "  exclaimed  Miller.  "  The  outlook 
is  dark,  but  we  should  at  least  try  to  do  something. 
There  must  be  some  white  men  in  the  town  who  would 
stand  for  law  and  order,  —  there  's  no  possible  chance 
for  Sandy  to  escape  hanging  by  due  process  of  law, 
if  he  is  guilty.  We  might  at  least  try  half  a  dozen 
gentlemen." 

"  We  'd  better  leave  Josh  here,"  said  Watson. 
*'  He 's  too  truculent.  If  he  went  on  the  street  he  'd 
make  trouble,  and  if  he  accompanied  us  he  'd  do  more 
harm  than  good.  Wait  for  us  here.  Josh,  until  we  've 
seen  what  we  can  do.  We  '11  be  back  in  half  an 
hour." 

In  half  an  hour  they  had  both  returned. 

"  It 's  no  use,"  reported  Watson  gloomily.  "  I 
called  at  the  mayor's  office  and  found  it  locked.  He 
is  doubtless  afraid  on  his  own  account,  and  would  not 
dream  of  asserting  his  authority.     I  then  looked  up 


HOW   NOT  TO   PREVENT  A  LYNCHING        193 

Judge  Everton,  who  has  always  seemed  to  be  fair. 
My  reception  was  cold.  He  admitted  that  lynching 
was,  as  a  rule,  unjustifiable,  but  maintained  that  there 
were  exceptions  to  all  rules,  —  that  laws  were  made, 
after  all,  to  express  the  will  of  the  people  in  regard  to 
the  ordinary  administration  of  justice,  but  that  in  an 
emergency  the  sovereign  people  might  assert  itself 
and  take  the  law  into  its  own  hands,  —  the  creature 
was  not  greater  than  the  creator.  He  laughed  at  my 
suggestion  that  Sandy  was  innocent.  '  If  he  is  inno- 
cent,' he  said,  '  then  produce  the  real  criminal.  You 
negroes  are  standing  in  your  own  light  when  you  try 
to  protect  such  dastardly  scoundrels  as  this  Campbell, 
who  is  an  enemy  of  society  and  not  fit  to  live.  I  shall 
not  move  in  the  matter.  If  a  negro  wants  the  pro- 
tection of  the  law,  let  him  obey  the  law.'  A  wise 
judge,  —  a  second  Daniel  come  to  judgment !  If  this 
were  the  law,  there  would  be  no  need  of  judges  or 
juries. 

"  I  caUed  on  Dr.  Price,"  said  Miller,  "  my  good 
friend  Dr.  Price,  who  would  rather  lie  than  hurt  my 
feelings.  *  Miller,'  he  declared,  '  this  is  no  affair  of 
mine,  or  yours.  I  have  too  much  respect  for  myself 
and  my  profession  to  interfere  in  such  a  matter,  and 
you  will  accomplish  nothing,  and  only  lessen  your  o^vn 
influence,  by  having  anything  to  say.'  '  But  the  man 
may  be  innocent,'  I  replied  ;  '  there  is  every  reason  to 
believe  that  he  is.'  He  shook  his  head  pityingly. 
'You  are  self-deceived.  Miller;  your  prejudice  has 
warped  your  judgment.  The  proof  is  overwhelming 
that  he  robbed  this  old  lady,  laid  violent  hands  upon 
her,  and  left  her  dead.  If  he  did  no  more,  he  has 
violated  the  written  and  unwritten  law  of  the  Southern 
States.     I  could  not  save  him  if  I  would,  Miller,  and 


194  THE  MARKOW  OF  TRADITION 

frankly,  I  would  not  if  I  could.  If  he  is  innocent, 
his  people  can  console  themselves  with  the  reflection 
that  Mrs.  Ochiltree  was  also  innocent,  and  balance 
one  crime  against  the  other,  the  white  against  the 
black.  Of  course  I  shall  take  no  part  in  whatever 
may  be  done,  —  but  it  is  not  my  affair,  nor  yours. 
Take  my  advice,  Miller,  and  keep  out  of  it.' 

"  That  is  the  situation,"  added  Miller,  summing 
up.  "  Their  friendship  for  us,  a  slender  stream  at  the 
best,  dries  up  entirely  when  it  strikes  their  prejudices. 
There  is  seemingly  not  one  white  man  in  Wellington 
who  will  speak  a  word  for  law,  order,  decency,  or 
humanity.  Those  who  do  not  participate  will  stand 
idly  by  and  see  an  untried  man  deliberately  and 
brutally  murdered.  Race  prejudice  is  the  devil  un- 
chained." 

"  Well,  den,  suh,"  said  Josh,  "  where  does  we  stan' 
now?  W'at  is  we  gwine  ter  do?  I  would  n'  min' 
fightin',  fer  my  time  ain't  come  yit,  —  I  feels  dat  in 
my  bones.  W'at  we  gwine  ter  do,  dat 's  w'at  I  wanter 
know." 

"  What  does  old  Mr.  Delamere  have  to  say  about 
the  matter  ?  "  asked  Miller  suddenly.  "  Why  have  n't 
we  thouofht  of  him  before  ?     Has  he  been  seen  ?  " 

"No,"  replied  Watson  gloomily,  "and  for  a  good 
reason,  —  he  is  not  in  town.  I  came  by  the  house 
just  now,  and  learned  that  he  went  out  to  his  country 
place  yesterday  afternoon,  to  remain  a  week.  Sandy 
was  to  have  followed  him  out  there  this  morning,  — 
it 's  a  pity  he  did  n't  go  yesterday.  The  old  gentle- 
man has  probably  heard  nothing  about  the  matter." 

"  How  about  young  Delamere  ?  " 

"  He  went  away  early  this  morning,  down  the  river, 
to  fish.     He  '11  probably  not  hear  of  it  before  night, 


HOW  NOT   TO   PREVENT  A  LYNCHING        195 

and  he  's  only  a  boy  anyway,  and  could  very  likely 
do  nothing,"  said  Watson. 

Miller  looked  at  his  watch. 

"  Belle  view  is  ten  miles  away,"  he  said.  "  It  is 
now  eleven  o'clock.  I  can  drive  out  there  in  an  hour 
and  a  half  at  the  farthest.  I  '11  go  and  see  Mr.  Dela- 
mere,  —  he  can  do  more  than  any  living  man,  if  he 
is  able  to  do  anything  at  all.  There  's  never  been  a 
lynching  here,  and  one  good  white  man,  if  he  choose, 
may  stem  the  flood  long  enough  to  give  justice  a 
chance.  Keep  track  of  the  white  people  while  I  'm 
gone,  Watson ;  and  you.  Josh,  learn  what  the  colored 
folks  are  saying,  and  do  nothing  rash  until  I  return. 
In  the  meantime,  do  all  that  you  can  to  find  out  who 
did  commit  this  most  atrocious  murder." 


XXIII 

BELLEVIEW 

Miller  did  not  reach  his  destination  without  in- 
terruption. At  one  point  a  considerable  stretch  of  the 
road  was  under  repair,  which  made  it  necessary  for 
him  to  travel  slowly.  His  horse  cast  a  shoe,  and 
threatened  to  go  lame ;  but  in  the  course  of  time  he 
arrived  at  the  entrance  gate  of.  Belleview,  entering 
which  he  struck  into  a  private  road,  bordered  by  mas- 
sive oaks,  whose  multitudinous  branches,  hung  with 
long  streamers  of  trailing  moss,  formed  for  much  of 
the  way  a  thick  canopy  above  his  head.  It  took  him 
only  a  few  minutes  to  traverse  the  quarter  of  a  mile 
that  lay  between  the  entrance  gate  and  the  house 
itself. 

This  old  colonial  plantation,  rich  in  legendary  lore 
and  replete  with  historic  distinction,  had  been  in  the 
Delamere  family  for  nearly  two  hundred  years.  Along 
the  bank  of  the  river  which  skirted  its  domain  the 
famous  pirate  Blackbeard  had  held  high  carnival, 
and  was  reputed  to  have  buried  much  treasure,  vague 
traditions  of  which  still  lingered  among  the  negroes 
and  poor-whites  of  the  country  roundabout.  The 
beautiful  residence,  rising  white  and  stately  in  a  grove 
of  ancient  oaks,  dated  from  1750,  and  was  built  of 
brick  which  had  been  brought  from  England.  En- 
larged and  improved  from  generation  to  generation, 
it  stood,  like  a  baronial  castle,  upon  a  slight  eminence 


BELLEVIEW  197 

from  which  could  be  surveyed  the  large  demesne  still 
belonging-  to  the  estate,  which  had  shrunk  greatly 
from  its  colonial  dimensions.  While  still  embracing 
several  thousand  acres,  part  forest  and  part  cleared 
land,  it  had  not  of  late  years  been  profitable  ;  in  spite 
of  which  Mr.  Delamere,  with  the  conservatism  of  his 
age  and  caste,  had  never  been  able  to  make  up  his 
mind  to  part  with  any  considerable  portion  of  it.  His 
grandson,  he  imagined,  could  make  the  estate  pay 
and  yet  preserve  it  in  its  integrity.  Here,  in  pleasant 
weather,  surrounded  by  the  scenes  which  he  loved, 
old  Mr.  Delamere  spent  much  of  the  time  during  his 
declining  years. 

Dr.  Miller  had  once  passed  a  day  at  Belleview, 
upon  Mr.  Delamere's  invitation.  For  this  old-fash- 
ioned gentleman,  whose  ideals  not  even  slavery  had 
been  able  to  spoil,  regarded  himself  as  a  trustee  for 
the  great  public,  which  ought,  in  his  opinion,  to  take 
as  much  pride  as  he  in  the  contemplation  of  this  his- 
toric landmark.  In  earlier  years  Mr.  Delamere  had 
been  a  practicing  lawyer,  and  had  numbered  Miller's 
father  among  his  clients.  He  had  always  been  re- 
garded as  friendly  to  the  colored  people,  and,  until 
age  and  ill  health  had  driven  him  from  active  life, 
had  taken  a  lively  interest  in  their  advancement  since 
the  abolition  of  slavery.  Upon  the  public  opening 
of  Miller's  new  hospital,  he  had  made  an  effort  to 
be  present,  and  had  made  a  little  speech  of  approval 
and  encouragement  which  had  manifested  his  kindli- 
ness and  given  Miller  much  pleasure. 

It  was  with  the  consciousness,  therefore,  that  he  was 
approaching  a  friend,  as  well  as  Sandy's  master,  that 
Miller's  mind  was  chiefly  occupied  as  his  tired  horse, 
scenting  the  end  of  his  efforts,  bore  him  with  a  final 


198  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

burst  of  speed  along  the  last  few  rods  of  the  journey ; 
for  the  urgency  of  Miller's  errand,  involving  as  it  did 
the  issues  of  life  and  death,  did  not  permit  him  to 
enjoy  the  charm  of  mossy  oak  or  forest  reaches,  or 
even  to  appreciate  the  noble  front  of  Belleview  House 
when  it  at  last  loomed  up  before  him. 

"  Well,  William,"  said  Mr.  Delamere,  as  he  gave 
his  hand  to  Miller  from  the  armchair  in  which  he  was 
seated  under  the  broad  and  stately  portico,  "  I  did  n't 
expect  to  see  you  out  here.  You  '11  excuse  my  not 
rising,  —  I  'm  none  too  firm  on  my  legs.  Did  you  see 
anything  of  my  man  Sandy  back  there  on  the  road  ? 
He  ought  to  have  been  here  by  nine  o'clock,  and  it 's 
now  one.  Sandy  is  punctuality  itself,  and  I  don't 
know  how  to  account  for  his  delay." 

Clearly  there  need  be  no  time  wasted  in  prelimi- 
naries. Mr.  Delamere  had  gone  directly  to  the  sub- 
ject in  hand. 

"  He  will  not  be  here  to-day,  sir,"  replied  Miller. 
"  I  have  come  to  you  on  his  account." 

In  a  few  words  Miller  stated  the  situation. 

"  Preposterous  !  "  exclaimed  the  old  gentleman, 
with  more  vigor  than  Miller  had  suj^posed  him  to 
possess.  "  Sandy  is  absolutely  incapable  of  such  a 
crime  as  robbery,  to  say  nothing  of  murder ;  and  as 
for  the  rest,  that  is  absurd  upon  the  face  of  it !  And 
so  the  poor  old  woman  is  dead  I  Well,  well,  well ! 
she  could  not  have  lived  much  longer  anyway  ;  but 
Sandy  did  not  kill  her,  —  it 's  simply  impossible ! 
Why,  /  raised  that  boy  !  He  was  born  on  my  place. 
I  'd  as  soon  believe  such  a  thing  of  my  own  grandson 
as  of  Sandy  !  No  negro  raised  by  a  Delamere  would 
ever  commit  such  a  crime.  I  really  believe,  William, 
that  Sandy  has  the  family  honor  of  the  Delameres 


BELLEVIEW  199 

quite  as  much  at  heart  as  I  have.     Just  tell  them  I 
say  Sandy  is  innocent,  and  it  will  be  all  right." 

"I'm  afraid,  sir,"  rejoined  Miller,  who  kept  his 
voice  up  so  that  the  old  gentleman  could  understand 
without  having  it  suggested  that  Miller  knew  he  was 
hard  of  hearing,  "  that  j^ou  don't  quite  appreciate 
the  situation.  /  believe  Sandy  innocent ;  you  be- 
lieve him  innocent ;  but  there  are  suspicious  circum- 
stances which  do  not  explain  themselves,  and  the 
white  people  of  the  city  believe  him  guilty,  and  are 
going  to  lynch  him  before  he  has  a  chance  to  clear 
himself." 

"  Why  does  n't  he  explain  the  suspicious  circum- 
stances ?  "  asked  Mr.  Delamere.  "  Sandy  is  truthful 
and  can  be  believed.  I  would  take  Sandy's  word  as 
quickly  as  another  man's  oath." 

"  He  has  no  chance  to  explain,"  said  Miller.  "  The 
case  is  prejudged.  A  crime  has  been  committed. 
Sandy  is  charged  with  it.  He  is  black,  and  therefore 
he  is  guilty.  No  colored  lawyer  would  be  allowed  in 
the  jail,  if  one  should  dare  to  go  there.  No  white 
lawyer  will  intervene.  He  '11  be  lynched  to-night, 
without  judge,  jury,  or  preacher,  unless  we  can  stave 
the  thing  off  for  a  day  or  two." 

"  Have  you  seen  my  grandson  ?  "  asked  the  old 
gentleman.     "  Is  he  not  looking  after  Sandy  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.  It  seems  he  went  down  the  river  this 
morning  to  fish,  before  the  murder  was  discovered  ; 
no  one  knows  just  where  he  has  gone,  or  at  what  hour 
he  will  return." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Mr.  Delamere,  rising  from  his 
chair  with  surprising  vigor,  "  I  shall  have  to  go  my- 
self. No  faithful  servant  of  mine  shall  be  hanged  for 
a  crime  he  did  n't  commit,  so  long  as  I  have  a  voice 


200  THE  MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

to  speak  or  a  dollar  to  spend.  There  Tl  be  no  trouble 
after  I  get  there,  William.  The  people  are  naturally 
wrought  up  at  such  a  crime.  A  fine  old  woman,  — 
she  had.  some  detestable  traits,  and  I  was  always 
afraid  she  wanted  to  marry  me,  but  she  was  of  an 
excellent  family  and  had  many  good  points,  —  an  old 
woman  of  one  of  the  best  families,  struck  down 
by  the  hand  of  a  murderer !  You  must  remember, 
William,  that  blood  is  thicker  than  water,  and  that 
the  provocation  is  extreme,  and  that  a  few  hotheads 
might  easily  lose  sight  of  the  great  principles  involved 
and  seek  immediate  vengeance,  without  too  much  dis- 
crimination. But  they  are  good  people,  William,  and 
when  I  have  spoken,  and  they  have  an  opportunity  for 
the  sober  second  thought,  they  will  do  nothing  rashly, 
but  will  wait  for  the  operation  of  the  law,  which  will, 
of  course,  clear  Sandy." 

"  I  'm  sure  I  hope  so,"  returned  Miller.     "  Shall  I 
try  to  drive  you  back,  sir,  or  will  you  order  your  own 


carriage 


?" 


"  My  horses  are  fresher,  William,  and  I  '11  have 
them  brought  around.  You  can  take  the  reins,  if  you 
will,  —  I'm  rather  old  to  drive,  —  and  my  man  will 
come  behind  with  your  buggy." 

In  a  few  minutes  they  set  out  along  the  sandy  road. 
Having  two  fresh  horses,  they  made  better  headway 
than  Miller  had  made  coming  out,  and  reached  Wel- 
lington easily  by  three  o'clock. 

"  I  think,  William,"  said  Mr.  Delamere,  as  they 
drove  into  the  town,  "  that  I  had  first  better  talk  with 
Sandy.  He  may  be  able  to  explain  away  the  things 
that  seem  to  connect  him  with  this  atrocious  affair ; 
and  that  will  put  me  in  a  better  position  to  talk  to 
other  people  about  it." 


BELLEVIEW  201 

Miller  drove  directly  to  the  county  jail.  Thirty 
or  forty  white  men,  who  seemed  to  be  casually  gath- 
ered near  the  door,  closed  up  when  the  carriage 
api^roached.  The  sheriff,  who  had  seen  them  from  the 
inside,  came  to  the  outer  door  and  spoke  to  the  visitor 
through  a  grated  wicket. 

"  Mr.  Wemyss,"  said  Mr.  Delamere,  when  he  had 
made  his  way  to  the  entrance  with  the  aid  of  his 
cane,  "  I  wish  to  see  my  servant,  Sandy  Campbell, 
who  is  said  to  be  in  your  custody." 

The  sheriff  hesitated.  Meantime  there  was  some 
parleying  in  low  tones  among  the  crowd  outside.  No 
one  interfered,  however,  and  in  a  moment  the  door 
opened  sufficiently  to  give  entrance  to  the  old  gentle- 
man, after  which  it  closed  quickly  and  clangorously 
behind  him. 

Feeling  no  desire  to  linger  in  the  locality.  Miller, 
having  seen  his  companion  enter  the  jail,  drove  the 
carriage  round  to  Mr.  Delamere's  house,  and  leaving 
it  in  charg'e  of  a  servant  with  instructions  to  return 
for  his  master  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  hastened  to 
his  own  home  to  meet  Watson  and  Josh  and  report 
the  result  of  his  efforts. 


XXIV 

TWO   SOUTHERN   GENTLEMEN 

The  iron  bolt  rattled  in  the  lock,  the  door  of  a  cell 
swung  open,  and  when  Mr.  Delamere  had  entered 
was  quickly  closed  again. 

"  Well,  Sandy  !  " 

"  Oh,  Mars  John  !  Is  you  fell  from  hebben  ter  he'p 
me  out  er  here  ?  I  prayed  de  Lawd  ter  sen'  you,  an' 
He  answered  my  prayer,  an'  here  you  is,  Mars  John, 
—  here  you  is  !  Oh,  Mars  John,  git  me  out  er  dis 
place ! " 

"  Tut,  tut,  Sandy  !  "  answered  his  master ;  "  of 
course  I  '11  get  you  out.  That 's  what  I  've  come  for. 
How  in  the  world  did  such  a  mistake  ever  happen  ? 
You  would  no  more  commit  such  a  crime  than  I 
would ! " 

"No,  suh,  'deed  I  would  n',  an'  you  know  I  would  n' ! 
I  would  n'  want  ter  bring  no  disgrace  on  de  fam'ly 
dat  raise'  me,  ner  ter  make  no  trouble  f er  you,  suh ; 
but  here  I  is,  suh,  lock'  up  in  jail,  an'  folks  talkin' 
'bout  hangin'  me  fer  somethin'  dat  never  entered 
my  min',  suh.  I  swea'  ter  God  I  never  thought  er 
sech  a  thing !  " 

"  Of  course  you  did  n't,  Sandy,"  returned  Mr. 
Delamere  soothingly ;  "  and  now  the  next  thing,  and 
the  simplest  thing,  is  to  get  you  out  of  this.  I  '11 
speak  to  the  officers,  and  at  the  preliminary  hearing 
to-morrow  I  '11  tell  them  all  about  you,  and  they  will 


TWO   SOUTHERN   GENTLEMEN  203 

let  you  go.  You  won't  mincl  spending  one  night  in 
jail  for  your  sins." 

"  No,  suli,  ef  I  wuz  sho'  I  'd  be  'lowed  ter  spen'  it 
here.  But  dey  say  dey  're  gwine  ter  lynch  me  ter- 
night,  —  I  kin  hear  'em  talkin'  f 'm  de  winders  er  de 
cell,  suh." 

"  Well,  /  say,  Sandy,  that  they  shall  do  no  such 
thing !  Lynch  a  man  brought  up  by  a  Delamere,  for 
a  crime  of  which  he  is  innocent  ?  Preposterous  !  I  '11 
speak  to  the  authorities  and  see  that  you  are  properly 
protected  until  this  mystery  is  unraveled.  If  Tom 
had  been  here,  he  would  have  had  you  out  before 
now,  Sandy.  My  grandson  is  a  genuine  Delamere,  is 
he  not,  Sandy  ?  " 

"  Yas,  suh,  yas,  suh,"  returned  Sandy,  with  a  lack 
of  enthusiasm  which  he  tried  to  conceal  from  his  mas- 
ter. *'  An'  I  s'pose  ef  he  had  n'  gone  fishin'  so  soon 
dis  mawnin',  he  'd  'a'  be'n  lookin'  after  me,  suh." 

"  It  has  been  my  love  for  him  and  your  care  of  me, 
Sandy,"  said  the  old  gentleman  tremulously,  "  that 
have  kept  me  alive  so  long ;  but  now  explain  to  me 
everything  concerning  this  distressing  matter,  and  I 
shall  then  be  able  to  state  voar  case  to  better  ad  van- 
tage." 

"  Well,  suh,"  returned  Sandy,  "  I  mought  's  w^ell 
tell  de  w^hole  tale  an'  not  hoi'  nothin'  back.  I  wuz 
kind  er  lonesome  las'  night,  an'  sence  I  be'n  tu'ned 
outen  de  chu'ch  on  account  er  dat  cakewalk  I  did  n' 
go  ter,  so  he"p  me  God  !  I  did  n'  feel  like  gwnne  ter 
prayer-meetin',  so  I  went  roun'  ter  see  Solomon  Wil- 
liams, an'  he  wa'n't  home,  an'  den  I  walk'  down  street 
an'  met  Josh  Green,  an'  he  ax'  me  inter  Sam  Tay- 
lor's place,  an'  I  sot  roun'  dere  wid  Josh  till  'bout 
'leven  o'clock,  w'en  I  sta'ted  back  home.      I  went 


204  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

straight  ter  de  house,  suh,  an'  went  ter  bed  an'  ter 
sleep  widout  sayin'  a  wo'd  ter  a  single  soul  excep' 
Mistuh  Tom,  who  wuz  settin'  up  readin'  a  book  w'en 
I  come  in.  I  wish  I  may  diap  dead  in  ray  tracks,  suh, 
ef  dat  ain't  de  God's  truf,  suh,  eve'y  wo'd  of  it !  " 

"  I  believe  every  word  of  it,  Sandy ;  now  tell  me 
about  the  clothes  that  you  are  said  to  have  been  found 
cleaning,  and  the  suspicious  articles  that  were  found 
in  your  room  ?  " 

"  Dat 's  w'at  beats  me.  Mars  John,"  replied  Sandy, 
shaking  his  head  mournfullv.  "  Wen  I  lef  home 
las'  night  after  supper,  my  clo's  wuz  all  put  erway  in 
de  closet  in  my  room,  folded  up  on  de  she'f  ter  keep 
de  moths  out.  Dey  wuz  my  good  clo's,  —  de  blue  coat 
dat  you  wo'  ter  de  weddin'  fo'ty  years  ago,  an'  dem 
dere  plaid  pants  I  gun  Mistuh  Cohen  fo'  dollars  fer 
three  years  ago ;  an'  w'en  I  looked  in  my  closet  dis 
mawnin',  suh,  befo'  I  got  ready  ter  sta't  fer  Belleview, 
dere  wuz  my  clo's  layin'  on  de  flo',  all  muddy  an' 
crumple'  up,  des  lack  somebody  had  wo'  'em  in  a 
fight !  Somebody  e'se  had  wo'  my  clo's,  —  er  e'se 
dere  'd  be'n  some  witchcraf,  er  some  sort  er  devil- 
ment gwine  on  dat  I  can't  make  out,  suh,  ter  save  my 
soul !  " 

"  There  was  no  witchcraft,  Sandy,  but  that  there 
was  some  deviltry  might  well  be.  Now,  what  other 
negro,  who  might  have  been  mistaken  for  you,  could 
have  taken  your  clothes?  Surely  no  one  about  the 
house  ?  " 

"  No,  suh,  no,  suh.  It  could  n't  'a'  be'n  Jeff,  fer 
he  wuz  at  Belleview  wid  you  ;  an'  it  could  n't  'a'  be'n 
Billy,  fer  he  wuz  too  little  ter  wear  my  clo's ;  an'  it 
couldn't  'a'  be'n  Sally,  fer  she's  a  'oman.  It's  a 
myst'ry  ter  me,  suh !  " 


TWO   SOUTHERN  GENTLEMEN  205 

"  Have  you  no  enemies  ?  Is  there  any  one  in  Wel- 
lington whom  you  imagine  would  like  to  do  you  an 
injury  : 

"  Not  a  livin'  soul  dat  I  knows  of,  suh.  I  've  be'n 
tu'ned  out'n  de  chu'ch,  but  I  don'  know  who  my 
enemy  is  dere,  er  ef  it  wuz  all  a  mistake,  like  dis  yer 
jailin'  is ;  but  de  Debbil  is  in  dis  somewhar,  Mars 
John,  —  an'  I  got  my  reasons  fer  sayin'  so." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Sandy  ?  " 

Sandy  related  his  experience  of  the  preceding  even- 
ing :  how  he  had  seen  the  apparition  preceding  him  to 
the  house,  and  how  he  had  questioned  Tom  upon  the 
subject. 

"  There  's  some  mystery  here,  Sandy,"  said  Mr. 
Delamere  reflectively.  "  Have  you  told  me  all,  now, 
upon  your  honor?  I  am  trying  to  save  your  life, 
Sandy,  and  I  must  be  able  to  trust  your  word  im- 
plicitly. You  must  tell  me  every  circumstance ;  a 
very  little  and  seemingly  unimportant  bit  of  evidence 
may  sometimes  determine  the  issue  of  a  great  lawsuit. 
There  is  one  thing  especially,  Sandy  :  where  did  you 
get  the  gold  which  was  found  in  your  trunk?" 

Sandy's  face  lit  up  with  hopefulness. 

"  Why,  Mars  John,  I  kin  'splain  dat  part  easy. 
Dat  wuz  money  I  had  lent  out,  an'  I  got  back  f'm  — 
But  no,  suh,  I  promise'  not  ter  tell." 

"  Circumstances  absolve  you  from  your  promise, 
Sandy.  Your  life  is  of  more  value  to  you  than  any 
other  thing.  If  you  will  explain  where  you  got  the 
gold,  and  the  silk  purse  that  contained  it,  which  is 
said  to  be  Mrs.  Ochiltree's,  you  will  be  back  home 
before  night." 

Old  Mr.  Delamere's  faculties,  which  had  been  wan- 
ing  somewhat   in   sympathy  with   his    health,    were 


206  THE  MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

stirred  to  unusual  acuteness  by  his  servant's  danger. 
He  was  watching  Sandy  with  all  the  awakened  in- 
stincts of  the  trial  lawyer.  He  could  see  clearly 
enough  that,  in  beginning  to  account  for  the  posses- 
sion of  the  gold,  Sandy  had  started  off  with  his  ex- 
planation in  all  sincerity.  At  the  mention  of  the  silk 
purse,  however,  his  face  had  blanched  to  an  ashen 
gray,  and  the  words  had  frozen  upon  his  lips. 

A  less  discerning  observer  might  have  taken  these 
things  as  signs  of  guilt,  but  not  so  Mr.  Delamere. 

"  Well,  Sandy,"  said  his  master  encouragingly, 
"  go  on.     You  got  the  gold  from  "  — 

Sandy  remained  silent.  He  had  had  a  great  shock, 
and  had  taken  a  great  resolution. 

"  Mars  John,"  he  asked  dreamily,  "  you  don' 
b'lieve  dat  I  done  dis  thing  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,  Sandy,  else  why  should  I  be  here  ?  " 

"  An'  nothin'  would  n'  make  you  b'lieve  it,  suh  ?  " 

"  No,  Sandy,  —  I  could  not  believe  it  of  you.  I  've 
known  you  too  long  and  too  well." 

"  An'  you  would  n'  b'lieve  it,  not  even  ef  I  would  n' 
say  one  wo'd  mo'  about  it  ?  " 

"  No,  Sandy,  I  believe  you  no  more  capable  of  this 
crime  than  I  would  be,  —  or  my  grandson,  Tom.  I 
wish  Tom  were  here,  that  he  might  help  me  over- 
come your  stubbornness  ;  but  you  '11  not  be  so  fool- 
ish, so  absurdly  foolish,  Sandy,  as  to  keep  silent  and 
risk  your  life  merely  to  shield  some  one  else,  when 
by  speaking  you  might  clear  up  this  m^^stery  and  be 
restored  at  once  to  liberty.  Just  tell  me  where  you 
got  the  gold,"  added  the  old  gentleman  persuasively. 
"  Come,  now,  Sandy,  that 's  a  good  fellow  !  " 

"  Mars  John,"  asked  Sandy  softly,  "  w'en  my 
daddy,  'way  back  yander  befo'  de  wah,  wuz  about  ter 


TWO  SOUTHERN  GENTLEMEN  207 

be  sol'  away  f  m  his  wife  an'  child'en,  you  bought  him 
an'  dem,  an'  kep'  us  all  on  yo'  place  tergether,  did  n't 
you,  suh  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Sandy,  and  he  was  a  faithful  servant,  and 
proved  worthy  of  all  I  did  for  him." 

"  And  w'en  he  had  wo'ked  fer  you  ten  years,  suh, 
you  sot  'im  free  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Sandy,  he  had  earned  his  freedom." 

"  An'  w'en  de  wah  broke  out,  an'  my  folks  wuz 
scattered,  an'  I  did  n'  have  nothin'  ter  do  ner  nowhar 
ter  go,  you  kep'  me  on  yo'  place,  and  tuck  me  ter  wait 
on  you,  suh,  did  n't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Sandy,  and  you  have  been  a  good  servant 
and  a  good  friend ;  but  tell  me  now  about  this  gold, 
and  I  '11  go  and  get  you  out  of  this,  right  away,  for 
I  need  you,  Sandy,  and  you  '11  not  be  of  any  use  to 
me  shut  up  here  !  " 

"  Jes'  hoi'  on  a  minute  befo'  you  go.  Mars  John ; 
fer  ef  dem  people  outside  should  git  holt  er  me  befo' 
you  does  git  me  out  er  here,  I  may  never  see  you  no 
mo',  suh,  in  dis  worl'.  Wen  Mars  Billy  McLean 
shot  me  by  mistake,  w'ile  we  wuz  out  huntin'  dat  day, 
who  wuz  it  boun'  up  my  woun's  an'  kep'  me  from 
bleedin'  ter  def,  an'  kyar'ed  me  two  miles  on  his  own 
shoulders  ter  a  doctuh  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Sandy,  and  w^hen  black  Sally  ran  away  with 
your  young  mistress  and  Tom,  when  Tom  was  a  baby, 
who  stopped  the  runaway,  and  saved  their  lives  at  the 
risk  of  his  own  ?  " 

*'  Dat  wa'n't  nothin',  suh  ;  anybody  could  'a'  done 
dat,  w'at  wuz  strong  ernuff  an'  swif '  ernuff.  You  is 
be'n  good  ter  me,  suh,  all  dese  years,  an'  I  've  tried  ter 
do  my  duty  by  you,  suh,  an'  by  Mistuh  Tom,  who  wuz 
yo'  own  gran'son,  an'  de  las'  one  er  de  fam'ly." 


208  THE   MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

"  Yes,  you  Lave,  Sandy,  and  when  I  am  gone,  which 
will  not  be  very  long,  Tom  will  take  care  of  you,  and 
see  that  you  never  want.  But  we  are  wasting  valua- 
ble time,  Sandy,  in  these  old  reminiscences.  Let  us 
get  back  to  the  present.  Tell  me  about  the  gold,  now, 
so  that  I  may  at  once  look  after  your  safety.  It  may 
not  even  be  necessary  for  you  to  remain  here   all 


nio'ht. 


_ /ir.  » 


"  Jes'  one  wo'd  mo'.  Mars  John,  befo'  you  go !  I 
know  you  're  gwine  ter  do  de  bes'  you  kin  fer  me,  an' 
I  'm  sorry  I  can't  he'p  you  no  mo'  wid  it ;  but  ef  dere 
should  be  any  accident,  er  ef  you  carit  git  me  out  er 
here,  don'  bother  yo'  min'  'bout  it  no  mo',  suh,  an' 
don'  git  yo'se'f  ixcited,  fer  you  know  de  doctuh  says, 
suh,  dat  you  can't  stan'  ixcitement ;  but  jes'  leave  me 
in  de  ban's  er  de  Lawd,  suh,  —  He  ^11  look  after  me, 
here  er  hereafter.  I  know  I  've  fell  f 'm  grace  mo'  d'n 
once,  but  I  've  done  made  my  peace  wid  Him  in  dis 
here  jail-house,  suh,  an'  I  ain't  'feared  ter  die  —  ef  I 
haf  ter.  I  ain'  got  no  wife  ner  child'n  ter  mo'n  fer 
me,  an'  I  '11  die  knowin'  dat  I  've  done  my  duty  ter 
dem  dat  hi'ed  me,  an'  trusted  me,  an'  had  claims  on 
me.  Fer  I  wuz  raise'  by  a  Delamere,  suh,  an'  all  de 
ole  Delameres  wuz  gent'emen,  an'  deir  princij^les 
spread  ter  de  niggers  'round  'em,  suh  ;  an'  ef  I  has 
ter  die  fer  somethin'  I  did  n'  do,  —  I  kin  die,  suh,  like 
a  gent'emau !  But  ez  fer  dat  gol',  suh,  I  ain'  gwine 
ter  say  one  wo'd  mo'  'bout  it  ter  nobody  in  dis 
worl'  !  " 

Nothing  could  shake  Sandy's  determination.  Mr. 
Delamere  argued,  expostulated,  but  all  in  vain.  Sandy 
would  not  speak. 

More  and  more  confident  of  some  mystery,  which 
would  come  out  in  time,  if  properly  investigated,  Mr. 


TWO   SOUTHERN   GENTLEMEN  209 

Delamere,  strangely  beset  by  a  vague  sense  of  dis- 
comfort over  and  beyond  that  occasioned  by  his  ser- 
vant's danger,  hurried  away  upon  his  errand  of  mercy. 
He  felt  less  confident  of  the  outcome  than  when  he 
had  entered  the  jail,  but  was  quite  as  much  resolved 
that  no  effort  should  be  spared  to  secure  protection 
for  Sandy  until  there  had  been  full  opportunity  for 
the  truth  to  become  known. 

"  Take  good  care  of  your  prisoner,  sheriff,"  he  said 
sternly,  as  he  was  conducted  to  the  door.  "  He  will 
not  be  long  in  your  custody,  and  I  shall  see  that  you 
are  held  strictly  accountable  for  his  safety." 

"  I  '11  do  what  I  can,  sir,"  replied  the  sheriff  in  an 
even  tone  and  seemingly  not  greatly  impressed  by  this 
warning.  "  If  the  prisoner  is  taken  from  me,  it  will 
be  because  the  force  that  comes  for  him  is  too  strong 
for  resistance." 

"  There  should  be  no  force  too  strong  for  an  honest 
man  in  your  position  to  resist,  —  whether  successfully 
or  not  is  beyond  the  question.  The  officer  who  is  in- 
timidated by  threats,  or  by  his  own  fears,  is  recreant  to 
his  duty,  and  no  better  than  the  mob  which  threatens 
him.  But  you  will  have  no  such  test,  Mr.  Wemyss ! 
I  shall  see  to  it  myself  that  there  is  no  violence !  " 


XXV 

THE   HONOR   OF   A   FAMILY 

Mr.  Delamere's  coachman,  who,  in  accordance 
with  instructions  left  by  Miller,  had  brought  the  car- 
riage around  to  the  jail  and  was  waiting  anxiously  at 
the  nearest  corner,  drove  up  with  some  trepidation  as 
he  saw  his  master  emerge  from  the  prison.  The  old 
gentleman  entered  the  carriage  and  gave  the  order 
to  be  driven  to  the  office  of  the  Morning  Chronicle. 
According  to  Jerry,  the  porter,  whom  he  encountered 
at  the  door,  Carteret  was  in  his  office,  and  Mr.  Dela- 
mere,  with  the  aid  of  his  servant,  climbed  the  stairs 
painfully  and  found  the  editor  at  his  desk. 

"  Carteret,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Delamere,  "what  is  all 
this  talk  about  lynching  my  man  for  murder  and  rob- 
bery and  criminal  assault  ?  It 's  perfectly  absurd  ! 
The  man  was  raised  by  me  ;  he  has  lived  in  my  house 
forty  years.  He  has  been  honest,  faithful,  and  trust- 
worthy. He  would  no  more  be  capable  of  this  crime 
than  you  would,  or  my  grandson  Tom.  Sandy  has 
too  much  respect  for  the  family  to  do  anything  that 
would  reflect  disgrace  upon  it." 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Delamere,"  asked  Carteret,  with  an 
indulgent  smile,  "  how  could  a  negro  possibly  reflect 
discredit  upon  a  white  family  ?  I  should  really  like 
to  know." 

"  How,  sir  ?  A  white  family  raised  him.  Like  all 
the  negroes,  he  has  been  clay  in  the  hands  of  the 


THE   HONOR  OF  A  FAMILY  211 

white  people.  They  are  what  we  have  made  them, 
or  permitted  them  to  become." 

"  We  are  not  God,  Mr.  Delamere !  TVe  do  not 
claim  to  have  created  these  —  masterpieces." 

"  No  ;  but  we  thought  to  overrule  God's  laws,  and 
we  enslaved  these  people  for  our  greed,  and  sought 
to  escape  the  manstealer's  curse  by  laying  to  our  souls 
the  flattering  unction  that  we  were  making  of  bar- 
barous negroes  civilized  and  Christian  men.  If  we 
did  not,  if  instead  of  making  them  Christians  we  have 
made  some  of  them  brutes,  we  have  only  ourselves 
to  blame,  and  if  these  prey  upon  society,  it  is  our  just 
punishment  I  But  my  negroes,  Carteret,  were  well 
raised  and  well  behaved.  This  man  is  innocent  of 
this  offense,  I  solemnly  affirm,  and  I  want  your  aid 
to  secure  his  safety  until  a  fair  trial  can  be  had." 

"  On  your  bare  word,  sir?  "  asked  Carteret,  not  at 
all  moved  by  this  outburst. 

Old  Mr.  Delamere  trembled  with  anger,  and  his 
withered  cheek  flushed  darkly,  but  he  restrained 
his  feelings,  and  answered  with  an  attempt  at  calm- 
ness :  — 

"  Time  was,  sir,  when  the  word  of  a  Delamere  was 
held  as  good  as  his  bond,  and  those  who  questioned 
it  were  forced  to  maintain  their  skepticism  upon 
the  field  of  honor.  Time  was,  sir,  when  the  law  was 
enforced  in  this  state  in  a  manner  to  command  the 
respect  of  the  world !  Our  lawyers,  our  judges,  our 
courts,  were  a  credit  to  humanity  and  civilization.  I 
fear  I  have  outlasted  my  epoch,  —  I  have  lived  to  hear 
of  white  men,  the  most  favored  of  races,  the  heirs  of 
civilization,  the  conservators  of  liberty,  howling  like 
red  Indians  around  a  human  being  slowly  roasting 
at  the  stake." 


212  THE   MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  Carteret  soothingly,  "you 
should  undeceive  yourself.  This  man  is  no  longer  j^our 
property.  The  negroes  are  no  longer  under  our  con- 
trol, and  with  their  emancipation  ceased  our  responsi- 
bility. Their  insolence  and  disregard  for  law  have 
reached  a  point  where  they  must  be  sternly  rebuked." 

"  The  law,"  retorted  Mr.  Delamere,  "  furnishes  a 
sufficient  penalty  for  any  crime,  however  heinous, 
and  our  code  is  by  no  means  lenient.  To  my  old- 
fashioned  notions,  death  would  seem  an  adequate  pun- 
ishment for  any  crime,  and  torture  has  been  abolished 
in  civilized  countries  for  a  hundred  years.  It  would 
be  better  to  let  a  crime  go  entirely  unpunished,  than  to 
use  it  as  a  pretext  for  turning  the  whole  white  popula- 
tion into  a  mob  of  primitive  savages,  dancing  in  hellish 
glee  around  the  mangled  body  of  a  man  who  has  never 
been  tried  for  a  crime.  All  this,  however,  is  apart 
from  my  errand,  which  is  to  secure  your  assistance  in 
heading  off  this  mob  until  Sandy  can  have  a  fair  hear- 
ing and  an  opportunity  to  prove  his  innocence." 

"  How  can  I  do  that,  Mr.  Delamere  ?  " 

"You  are  editor  of  the  Morning  Chronicle.  The 
Chronicle  is  the  leading  newspaper  of  the  city.  This 
morning's  issue  practically  suggested  the  mob  ;  the 
same  means  will  stop  it.  I  will  pay  the  expense  of  an 
extra  edition,  calling  off  the  mob,  on  the  ground  that 
newly  discovered  evidence  has  shown  the  prisoner's 
innocence." 

"  But  where  is  the  evidence  ?  "  asked  Carteret. 

Again  Mr.  Delamere  flushed  and  trembled.  "  My 
evidence,  sir  !  I  say  the  negro  was  morally  incapable 
of  the  crime.  A  man  of  forty-five  does  not  change 
his  nature  over-night.  He  is  no  more  capable  of  a 
disgraceful  deed  than  my  grandson  would  be !  " 


THE  HONOR  OF  A  FAMILY  213 

Carteret  smiled  sadly. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Mr.  Delamere,"  he  said,  "  that  you 
should  permit  yourself  to  be  so  exercised  about  a 
worthless  scoundrel  who  has  forfeited  his  right  to  live. 
The  proof  against  him  is  overwhelming.  As  to  his 
capability  of  crime,  we  will  apply  your  own  test.  You 
have  been  kept  in  the  dark  too  long,  Mr.  Delamere, 
—  indeed,  we  all  have,  —  about  others  as  well  as  this 
negro.  Listen,  sir  :  last  night,  at  the  Clarendon  Club, 
Tom  Delamere  was  caught  cheating  outrageously  at 
cards.  He  had  been  suspected  for  some  time  ;  a  trap 
was  laid  for  him,  and  he  fell  into  it.  Out  of  regard 
for  you  and  for  my  family,  he  has  been  permitted  to 
resign  quietly,  with  the  understanding  that  he  first  pay 
off  his  debts,  which  are  considerable." 

Mr.  Delamere's  face,  which  had  taken  on  some  color 
in  the  excitement  of  the  interview,  had  gradually  paled 
to  a  chalky  white  while  Carteret  was  speaking.  His 
head  sunk  forward ;  already  an  old  man,  he  seemed  to 
have  aged  ten  years  in  but  little  more  than  as  many 
seconds. 

"  Can  this  be  true  ? "  he  demanded  in  a  hoarse 
whisper.     "  Is  it  —  entirely  authentic  ?  " 

"  True  as  gospel ;  true  as  it  is  that  Mrs.  Ochiltree 
has  been  murdered,  and  that  this  negro  killed  her. 
Ellis  was  at  the  club  a  few  minutes  after  the  affair 
happened,  and  learned  the  facts  from  one  of  the 
participants.  Tom  made  no  attempt  at  denial.  We 
have  kept  the  matter  out  of  the  other  papers,  and  I 
would  have  spared  your  feelings,  —  I  surely  would  not 
wish  to  wound  them,  —  but  the  temptation  proved  too 
strong  for  me,  and  it  seemed  the  only  way  to  convince 
you  :  it  was  your  own  test.  If  a  gentleman  of  a  dis- 
tinguished name  and  an  honorable  ancestry,  with  all 


214  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION. 

the  restraining  forces  of  social  position  surrounding 
him,  to  hold  him  in  check,  can  stoop  to  dishonor, 
what  is  the  improbability  of  an  illiterate  negro's  being 
at  least  ccq^Me  of  crime? " 

"  Enough,  sir,"  said  the  old  gentleman.  "  You  have 
proved  enough.  My  grandson  may  be  a  scoundrel, — 
I  can  see,  in  the  light  of  this  revelation,  how  he  might 
be ;  and  he  seems  not  to  have  denied  it.  I  maintain, 
nevertheless,  that  my  man  Sandy  is  innocent  of  the 
charge  against  him.  He  has  denied  it,  and  it  has  not 
been  proved.  Carteret,  I  owe  that  negro  my  life  ;  he, 
and  his  father  before  him,  have  served  me  and  mine 
faithfully  and  well.  I  cannot  see  him  killed  like  a 
dog,  without  judge  or  jury,  —  no,  not  even  if  he  were 
guilty,  which  I  do  not  believe !  " 

Carteret  felt  a  twinge  of  remorse  for  the  pain  he 
had  inflicted  upon  this  fine  old  man,  this  ideal  gentle- 
man of  the  ideal  past,  —  the  past  which  he  himself  so 
much  admired  and  regretted.  He  would  like  to  spare 
his  old  friend  any  further  agitation  ;  he  was  in  a  state 
of  health  where  too  great  excitement  might  prove  fatal. 
But  how  could  he  ?  The  negro  was  guilty,  and  sure  to 
die  sooner  or  later.  He  had  riot  meant  to  interfere, 
and  his  intervention  might  be  fruitless. 

"  Mr.  Delamere,"  he  said  gently,  "  there  is  but  one 
way  to  gain  time.  You  say  the  negro  is  innocent. 
Appearances  are  against  him.  The  only  way  to  clear 
him  is  to  produce  the  real  criminal,  or  prove  an  alibi. 
If  you,  or  some  other  white  man  of  equal  standing, 
could  swear  that  the  negro  was  in  your  presence  last 
night  at  any  hour  when  this  crime  could  have  taken 
place,  it  might  be  barely  possible  to  prevent  the  lynch- 
ing for  the  present ;  and  when  he  is  tried,  which  will 
probably  be  not  later  than  next  week,  he  will  have 


THE   HONOR   OF  A  FA:V1ILY  215 

ever}^  opportunity  to  defend  himself,  with  you  to  see 
that  he  gets  no  less  than  justice.  I  think  it  can  be 
managed,  though  there  is  still  a  doubt.  I  will  do  my 
best,  for  your  sake,  Mr.  Delamere,  —  solely  for  your 
sake,  be  it  understood,  and  not  for  that  of  the  negro, 
in  whom  you  are  entirely  deceived." 

"  I  shall  not  examine  your  motives,  Carteret," 
replied  the  other,  "  if  you  can  bring  about  w^hat  I 
desire." 

"  Whatever  is  done,"  added  Carteret,  "  must  be 
done  quickly.  It  is  now  four  o'clock ;  no  one  can 
answer  for  what  may  happen  after  seven.  If  he  can 
prove  an  alibi,  there  may  yet  be  time  to  save  him. 
White  men  might  lynch  a  negro  on  suspicion ;  they 
would  not  kill  a  man  who  was  proven,  by  the  word  of 
white  men,  to  be  entirely  innocent." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  returned  Mr.  Delamere,  shaking 
his  head  sadly.  "  After  what  you  have  told  me,  it  is 
no  longer  safe  to  assume  what  white  men  will  or  will 
not  do ;  —  what  I  have  learned  here  has  shaken  my 
faith  in  humanity.  I  am  going  away,  but  shall  return 
in  a  short  time.     Shall  I  find  you  here  ?  " 

"  I  will  await  your  return,"  said  Carteret. 

He  watched  Mr.  Delamere  pityingly  as  the  old  man 
moved  away  on  the  arm  of  the  coachman  waiting  in 
the  hall.  He  did  not  believe  that  Mr.  Delamere  could 
prove  an  alibi  for  his  servant,  and  without  some  posi- 
tive proof  the  negro  would  surely  die,  —  as  he  well 
deserved  to  die. 


XXVI 

THE   DISCOMFORT    OF   ELLIS 

Mr.  Ellis  was  vaguely  uncomfortable.  In  the  first 
excitement  following  the  discovery  of  the  crime,  he 
had  given  his  bit  of  evidence,  and  had  shared  the 
universal  indignation  against  the  murderer.  When 
public  feeling  took  definite  shape  in  the  intention  to 
lynch  the  prisoner,  Ellis  felt  a  sudden  sense  of  re- 
sponsibility growing  upon  himself.  When  he  learned, 
an  hour  later,  that  it  was  proposed  to  burn  the  negro, 
his  part  in  the  affair  assumed  a  still  graver  aspect ; 
for  his  had  been  the  final  word  to  fix  the  prisoner's 
guilt. 

Ellis  did  not  believe  in  lynch  law.  He  had  argued 
against  it,  more  than  once,  in  private  conversation,  and 
had  written  several  editorials  against  the  practice,  while 
in  charge  of  the  ]\Iorning  Chronicle  during  Major  Car- 
teret's absence.  A  young  man,  however,  and  merely 
representing  another,  he  had  not  set  up  as  a  reformer, 
taking  rather  the  view  that  this  summary  method  of 
punishing  crime,  with  all  its  possibilities  of  error,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  resulting  disrespect  of  the  law  and 
contempt  for  the  time-honored  methods  of  establishing 
guilt,  was  a  mere  temporary  symptom  of  the  unrest 
caused  by  the  unsettled  relations  of  the  two  races  at 
the  South.  There  had  never  before  been  any  special 
need  for  any  vigorous  opposition  to  lynch  law,  so  far  as 
the  community  was  concerned,  for  there  had  not  been 


THE  DISCOMFORT  OF  ELLIS  217 

a  Ivncliino:  in  Welllnsrton  since  Ellis  Lad  come  there, 
eight  years  before,  from  a  smaller  town,  to  seek  a 
place  for  himself  in  the  world  of  action.  Twenty 
years  before,  indeed,  there  had  been  wild  doings, 
durins:  the  brief  Ku-Klux  outbreak,  but  that  w^as 
before  Ellis's  time,  —  or  at  least  when  he  was  but  a 
child.  He  had  come  of  a  Quaker  family,  —  the 
modified  Quakers  of  the  South,  —  and  while  sharing 
in  a  general  way  the  Southern  prejudice  against  the 
negro,  his  prejudices  had  been  tempered  by  the  peace- 
ful tenets  of  his  father's  sect.  His  father  had  been  a 
Whig,  and  a  non-slaveholder ;  and  while  he  had  gone 
with  the  South  in  the  civil  war  so  far  as  a  man  of 
peace  could  go,  he  had  not  done  so  for  love  of  slavery. 
As  the  day  wore  on,  Ellis's  personal  responsibility 
for  the  intended  auto-da-fe  bore  more  heavily  upon 
him.  Suppose  he  had  been  wrong  ?  He  had  seen  the 
accused  negro  ;  he  had  recognized  him  by  his  clothes, 
his  whiskers,  his  spectacles,  and  his  walk ;  but  he  had 
also  seen  another  man,  who  resembled  Sandy  so  closely 
that  but  for  the  difference  in  their  clothes,  he  was 
forced  to  acknowledge,  he  could  not  have  told  them 
apart.  Had  he  not  seen  the  first  man,  he  w^ould  have 
sworn  with  even  greater  confidence  that  the  second 
was  Sandy.  There  had  been,  he  recalled,  about  one  of 
the  men  —  he  had  not  been  then  nor  was  he  now  able 
to  tell  which  —  something  vaguely  familiar,  and  yet 
seemino'lv  discordant  to  whichever  of  the  two  it  was, 
or,  as  it  seemed  to  him  now,  to  any  man  of  that  race. 
His  mind  reverted  to  the  place  where  he  had  last  seen 
Sandy,  and  then  a  sudden  wave  of  illumination  swept 
over  him,  and  filled  him  wdth  a  thrill  of  horror. 
The  Cakewalk,  —  the  dancing,  —  the  speech,  —  they 
were  not  Sandy's  at  all,  nor  any  negro's !     It  was  a 


218  THE  MAKROW  OF  TRADITION 

white  man  who  had  stood  in  the  light  of  the  street 
lamp,  so  that  the  casual  passer-by  might  see  and  re- 
coonize  in  him  old  Mr.  Delamere's  servant.  The 
scheme  was  a  dastardly  one,  and  worthy  of  a  heart 
that  was  something  worse  than  weak  and  vicions. 

Ellis  resolved  that  the  negro  should  not,  if  he  could 
prevent  it,  die  for  another's  crime ;  but  what  proof 
had  he  himself  to  offer  in  support  of  his  theory? 
Then  again,  if  he  denounced  Tom  Delamere  as  the 
murderer,  it  would  involve,  in  all  probability,  the 
destruction  of  his  own  hopes  with  regard  to  Clara. 
Of  course  she  could  not  marry  Delamere  after  the  dis- 
closure, —  the  disgraceful  episode  at  the  club  would 
have  been  enough  to  make  that  reasonably  certain  ; 
it  had  put  a  nail  in  Delamere's  coffin,  but  this  crime 
had  driven  it  in  to  the  head  and  clinched  it.  On 
the  other  hand,  would  Miss  Pemberton  ever  sjDeak 
again  to  the  man  who  had  been  the  instrument  of 
bringing  disgrace  upon  the  famil}-  ?  Spies,  detectives, 
police  officers,  may  be  useful  citizens,  but  the}''  are 
rarely  pleasant  company  for  other  people.  We  fee 
the  executioner,  but  we  do  not  touch  his  bloodv  hand. 
We  might  feel  a  certain  tragic  admiration  for  Brutus 
condemning  his  sons  to  death,  but  we  would  scarcely 
invite  Brutus  to  dinner  after  the  event.  It  would 
harrow  our  feelings  too  much. 

Perhaps,  thought  Ellis,  there  might  be  a  way  out 
of  the  dilemma.  It  might  be  possible  to  save  this 
innocent  negro  without,  for  the  time  being,  involving 
Delamere.  He  believed  that  murder  will  out,  but  it 
need  not  be  through  his  initiative.  He  determined  to 
go  to  the  jail  and  interview  the  prisoner,  who  might 
give  such  an  account  of  himself  as  would  establish  his 
innocence  beyond  a  doubt.     If  so,  Ellis  would  exert 


THE   DISCOMFORT  OF  ELLIS  219 

himself  to  stem  tlie  ticie  of  popular  fury.  If,  as  a  last 
resort,  he  could  save  Sandy  only  by  denouncing  Dela- 
mere,  he  would  do  his  duty,  let  it  cost  him  what  it 
might. 

The  gravity  of  his  errand  was  not  lessened  by 
what  he  saw  and  heard  on  the  way  to  the  jail.  The 
anger  of  the  people  was  at  a  white  heat.  A  white 
woman  had  been  assaulted  and  murdered  by  a  brutal 
negro.  Neither  advanced  age,  nor  high  social  stand- 
ing, had  been  able  to  protect  her  from  the  ferocity  of 
a  black  savage.  Her  sex,  which  should  have  been  her 
shield  and  buckler,  had  made  her  an  easy  mark  for 
the  villainy  of  a  black  brute.  To  take  the  time  to  try 
him  would  be  a  criminal  waste  of  public  money.  To 
hang  him  would  be  too  slight  a  punishment  for  so 
dastardly  a  crime.     An  example  must  be  made. 

Already  the  preparations  were  under  way  for  the 
impending  execution.  A  T-rail  from  the  railroad 
yard  had  been  procured,  and  men  were  burying  it  in 
the  square  before  the  jail.  Others  were  bringing 
chains,  and  a  load  of  pine  wood  was  piled  in  con- 
venient proximity.  Some  enterprising  individual  had 
begun  the  erection  of  seats  from  which,  for  a  pecuniary 
consideration,  the  spectacle  might  be  the  more  easily 
and  comfortably  viewed. 

Ellis  was  stopped  once  or  twice  by  persons  of  his 
acquaintance.  From  one  he  learned  that  the  rail- 
roads would  run  excursions  from  the  neighboring 
towns  in  order  to  bring  spectators  to  the  scene ;  from 
another  that  the  burning  was  to  take  place  early  in 
the  evening,  so  that  the  children  might  not  be  kept  v^  ^(^ 
up  beyond  their  usual  bedtime.  In  one  group  that 
he  passed  he  heard  several  young  men  discussing  the 
question  of  which  portions  of  the  negro's  body  they 


220  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

would  prefer  for  souvenirs.  Ellis  shuddered  and  has- 
tened forward.  Whatever  was  to  be  done  must  be 
done  quickly,  or  it  would  be  too  late.  He  saw  that 
already  it  would  require  a  strong  case  in  favor  of  the 
accused  to  overcome  the  popular  verdict. 

Going  up  the  steps  of  the  jail,  he  met  Mr.  Dela- 
mere,  who  was  just  coming  out,  after  a  fruitless  inter- 
view with  Sandy. 

"  Mr.  Ellis,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  who  seemed 
greatly  agitated,  "  this  is  monstrous  !  " 

"  It  is  indeed,  sir !  "  returned  the  younger  man. 
"  I  mean  to  stop  it  if  I  can.  The  negro  did  not  kill 
Mrs.  Ochiltree." 

Mr.  Delamere  looked  at  Ellis  keenly,  and,  as  Ellis 
recalled  afterwards,  there  was  death  in  his  eyes.  Un- 
able to  draw  a  syllable  from  Sandy,  he  had  found  his 
servant's  silence  more  eloquent  than  words.  Ellis 
felt  a  presentiment  that  this  affair,  however  it  might 
terminate,  would  be  fatal  to  this  fine  old  man,  whom 
the  city  could  ill  spare,  in  spite  of  his  age  and  in- 
firmities. 

"  Mr.  Ellis,"  asked  Mr.  Delamere,  in  a  voice  which 
trembled  with  ill-suppressed  emotion,  "  do  you  know 
who  killed  her  ?  " 

Ellis  felt  a  surging  pity  for  his  old  friend ;  but 
every  step  that  he  had  taken  toward  the  jail  had  con- 
firmed and  strengthened  his  own  resolution  that  this 
contemplated  crime,  which  he  dimly  felt  to  be  far 
more  atrocious  than  that  of  which  Sandy  was  accused, 
in  that  it  involved  a  whole  community  rather  than  one 
vicious  man,  should  be  stopped  at  any  cost.  Deplor- 
able enough  had  the  negro  been  guilty,  it  became,  in 
view  of  his  certain  innocence,  an  unspeakable  horror, 
which  for  all  time  would  cover  the  city  with  infamy. 


THE   DISCOMFORT  OF  ELLIS  221 

"  Mr.  Delamere,"  he  replied,  looking  the  elder  man 
squarely  iu  the  eyes,  "  I  think  I  do,  —  and  I  am  very 
sorry." 

"  And  who  was  it,  Mr.  Ellis  ?  " 

He  put  the  question  hopelessly,  as  though  the 
answer  were  a  foregone  conclusion. 

"  I  do  not  wnsh  to  say  at  present,"  replied  Ellis, 
with  a  remorseful  pang,  "  unless  it  becomes  absolutely 
necessary,  to  save  the  negro's  life.  Accusations  are 
dangerous,  —  as  this  case  proves,  —  unless  the  proof 
be  certain." 

For  a  moment  it  seemed  as  though  Mr.  Delamere 
would  collapse  upon  the  spot.  Rallying  almost  in- 
stantly, however,  he  took  the  arm  which  Ellis  involun- 
tarily offered,  and  said  with  an  effort :  — 

"Mr.  Ellis,  you  are  a  gentleman  whom  it  is  an 
honor  to  know.  If  you  have  time,  I  wish  you  would 
go  with  me  to  my  house,  —  I  can  hardly  trust  myself 
alone,  —  and  thence  to  the  Chronicle  office.  This 
thing  shall  be  stopped,  and  you  will  help  me  stop  it." 

It  required  but  a  few  minutes  to  cover  the  half 
mile  that  lay  between  the  prison  and  Mr.  Delamere's 
residence. 


XXVII 

THE  VAGARIES  OF  THE  HIGHER  LAW 

Mr.  Delamere  went  immediately  to  his  grandson's 
room,  which  he  entered  alone,  closing  and  locking  the 
door  behind  him.  He  had  requested  Ellis  to  wait  in 
the  carriage. 

The  bed  had  been  made,  and  the  room  was  ap- 
parently in  perfect  order.  There  was  a  bureau  in  the 
room,  through  which  Mr.  Delamere  proceeded  to  look 
thoroughly.  Finding  one  of  the  drawers  locked,  he 
tried  it  with  a  key  of  his  own,  and  being  unable  to 
unlock  it,  took  a  poker  from  beside  the  stove  and 
broke  it  ruthlessly  open. 

The  contents  served  to  confirm  what  he  had  heard 
concerning  his  grandson's  character.  Thrown  to- 
gether in  disorderly  confusion  were  bottles  of  wine 
and  whiskey ;  soiled  packs  of  cards  ;  a  dice-box  with 
dice  ;  a  box  of  poker  chips,  several  revolvers,  and  a 
number  of  photographs  and  paper-covered  books  at 
which  the  old  gentleman  merely  glanced  to  ascertain 
their  nature. 

So  far,  while  his  suspicion  had  been  strengthened, 
he  had  found  nothins:  to  confirm  it.  He  searched  the 
room  more  carefully,  and  found,  in  the  wood-box  by 
the  small  heating-stove  which  stood  in  the  room,  a  torn 
and  crumpled  bit  of  paper.  Stooping  to  pick  this  up, 
his  eye  caught  a  gleam  of  something  yellow  beneath 
the  bureau,  which  lay  directly  in  his  line  of  vision. 


THE  VAGAEIES   OF  THE   HIGHER  LAW      223 

First  lie  smoothed  out  the  paper.  It  was  appar- 
ently the  lower  half  of  a  label,  or  part  of  the  cover 
of  a  small  box,  torn  diagonally  from  corner  to  corner. 
From  the  business  card  at  the  bottom,  which  gave  the 
name  of  a  firm  of  manufacturers  of  theatrical  sup- 
plies in  a  Northern  city,  and  from  the  letters  remain- 
ing upon  the  upper  and  narrower  half,  the  bit  of 
paper  had  plainly  formed  part  of  the  wrapper  of  a 
package  of  burnt  cork. 

Closing  his  fingers  spasmodically  over  this  damning 
piece  of  evidence,  Mr.  Delamere  knelt  painfully,  and 
with  the  aid  of  his  cane  drew  out  from  under  the 
bureau  the  yellow  object  which  had  attracted  his  at- 
tention. It  was  a  five-dollar  gold  piece  of  a  date 
back  toward  the  beginning  of  the  century. 

To  make  assurance  doubly  sure,  Mr.  Delamere 
summoned  the  cook  from  the  kitchen  in  the  back 
yard.  In  answer  to  her  master's  questions,  Sally 
averred  that  Mr.  Tom  had  got  up  very  early,  had 
knocked  at  her  window,  —  she  slept  in  a  room  off  the 
kitchen  in  the  yard,  — -  and  had  told  her  that  she  need 
not  bother  about  breakfast  for  him,  as  he  had  had  a 
cold  bite  from  the  pantry ;  that  he  was  going  hunting 
and  fishing,  and  would  be  gone  all  da}^.  According 
to  Sally,  Mr.  Tom  had  come  in  about  ten  o'clock  the 
night  before.  He  had  forgotten  his  night-key,  Sandy 
was  out,  and  she  had  admitted  him  with  her  own  key. 
He  had  said  that  he  was  very  tired  and  was  going 
immediately  to  bed. 

Mr.  Delamere  seemed  perplexed ;  the  crime  had 
been  committed  later  in  the  evening  than  ten  o'clock. 
The  cook  cleared  up  the  mystery. 

"  I  reckon  he  must  'a'  be'n  dead  ti'ed,  suh,  fer  I  ' 
went  back  ter  his  room  fifteen  er  twenty  minutes  after 


224  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

he  come  in  fer  ter  fin'  out  w'at  he  wanted  fer  break- 
fus'  ;  an'  I  knock'  two  or  three  times,  rale  ha'd,  an' 
Mistuh  Tom  did  n'  wake  up  no  mo'  d'n  de  dead.  He 
sho'ly  had  a  good  sleep,  er  he  'd  never  'a'  got  up  so 
ea'ly." 

"  Thank  you,  Sally,"  said  Mr.  Delamere,  when  the 
woman  had  finished,  "  that  will  do." 

"  Will  you  be  home  ter  suppah,  suh  ?  "  asked  the 
cook. 

"■  Yes." 

It  was  a  matter  of  the  supremest  indifference  to 
Mr.  Delamere  whether  he  should  ever  eat  again,  but 
he  would  not  betray  his  feelings  to  a  servant.  In  a 
few  minutes  he  was  driving  rapidly  with  Ellis  toward 
the  office  of  the  Morning  Chronicle.  Ellis  could  see 
that  Mr.  Delamere  had  discovered  something  of  tragic 
import.  Neither  spoke.  Ellis  gave  all  his  attention 
to  the  horses,  and  Mr.  Delamere  remained  wrapped 
in  his  own  sombre  reflections. 

When  they  reached  the  office,  they  were  informed 
by  Jerry  that  Major  Carteret  was  engaged  with  Gen- 
eral Belmont  and  Captain  McBane.  Mr.  Delamere 
knocked  peremptorily  at  the  door  of  the  inner  office, 
which  was  opened  by  Carteret  in  person. 

"  Oh,  it  is  you,  Mr.  Delamere." 

"  Carteret,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Delamere,  "  I  must 
speak  to  you  immediately,  and  alone." 

"  Excuse  me  a  moment,  gentlemen,"  said  Carteret, 
turnino^  to  those  within  the  room.  "  I  '11  be  back  in  a 
moment  —  don't  go  away." 

Ellis  had  left  the  room,  closing  the  door  behind 
him.     Mr.  Delamere  and  Carteret  were  quite  alone. 

"  Carteret,"  declared  the  old  gentleman,  "  this  mur- 
der must  not  take  place." 


THE  VAGARIES  OF  THE   HIGHER  LAW      225 

" '  Murder '  is  a  hard  word,"  replied  the  editor, 
frowning  slightly. 

"  It  is  the  right  word,"  rejoined  Mr.  Delamere,  de- 
cidedly. "  It  would  be  a  foul  and  most  unnatural 
murder,  for  Sandy  did  not  kill  Mrs.  Ochiltree." 

Carteret  with  difficulty  restrained  a  smile  of  pity. 
His  old  friend  was  very  much  excited,  as  the  tremor 
in  his  voice  gave  proof.  The  criminal  was  his  trusted 
servant,  who  had  proved  unworthy  of  confidence.  No 
one  could  question  Mr.  Delamere's  motives ;  but  he 
was  old,  his  judgment  was  no  longer  to  be  relied  upon. 
It  was  a  great  pity  that  he  should  so  excite  and  over- 
strain himself  about  a  worthless  negro,  who  had  for- 
feited his  life  for  a  dastardly  crime.  Mr.  Delamere 
had  had  two  paralytic  strokes,  and  a  third  might 
prove  fatal.     He  must  be  dealt  with  gently. 

"  Mr.  Delamere,"  he  said,  with  patient  tolerance, 
"  I  think  you  are  deceived.  There  is  but  one  sure 
way  to  stop  this  execution.  If  your  servant  is  inno- 
cent, you  must  produce  the  real  criminal.  If  the 
negro,  with  such  overwhelming  proofs  against  him,  is 
not  guilty,  who  is  ?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you  who  is,"  replied  Mr.  Delamere. 
"  The  murderer  is,"  —  the  words  came  with  a  note  of 
anguish,  as  though  torn  from  his  very  heart,  —  "  the 
murderer  is  Tom  Delamere,  my  own  grandson !  " 

"  Impossible,  sir !  "  exclaimed  Carteret,  starting 
back  involuntarily.  "  That  could  not  be  !  The  man 
was  seen  leaving  the  house,  and  he  was  black !  " 

"  All  cats  are  gray  in  the  dark,  Carteret ;  and, 
moreover,  nothing  is  easier  than  for  a  white  man  to 
black  his  face.  God  alone  knows  how  many  crimes 
have  been  done  in  this  guise  !  Tom  Delamere,  to 
get  the  money  to  pay  his  gambling  debts,  committed 


226  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

this  foul  murder,  and  then  tried  to  fasten  it  upon  as 
honest  and  faithful  a  soul  as  ever  trod  the  earth." 

Carteret,  though  at  first  overwhelmed  by  this  an- 
nouncement, perceived  with  quick  intuition  that  it 
might  easily  be  true.  It  was  but  a  step  from  fraud 
to  crime,  and  in  Delamere's  need  of  money  there  lay 
a  palpable  motive  for  robbery,  —  the  murder  may 
have  been  an  afterthought.  Delamere  knew  as  much 
about  the  cedar  chest  as  the  negro  could  have  known, 
and  more. 

But  a  white  man  must  not  be  condemned  without 
proof  positive. 

"  AVhat  foundation  is  there,  sir,"  he  asked,  "  for  this 
astounding  charge  ?  " 

Mr.  Delamere  related  all  that  had  taken  place  since 
he  had  left  Belleview  a  couple  of  hours  before,  and  as 
he  proceeded,  step  by  step,  every  word  carried  convic- 
tion to  Carteret.  Tom  Delamere's  skill  as  a  mimic 
and  a  negro  impersonator  was  well  known ;  he  had 
himself  laughed  at  more  than  one  of  his  performances. 
There  had  been  a  powerful  motive,  and  Mr.  Dela- 
mere's discoveries  had  made  clear  the  means.  Tom's 
unusual  departure,  before  breakfast,  on  a  fishing  ex- 
pedition was  a  suspicious  circumstance.  There  was 
a  certain  devilish  ingenuity  about  the  affair  which  he 
would  hardly  have  expected  of  Tom  Delamere,  but 
for  which  the  reason  was  clear  enough.  One  might 
have  thought  that  Tom  would  have  been  satisfied  with 
merely  blacking  his  face,  and  leaving  to  chance  the 
identification  of  the  negro  who  might  be  apprehended. 
He  would  hardly  have  implicated,  out  of  pure  malig- 
nity, his  grandfather's  old  servant,  who  had  been  his 
own  care-taker  for  many  years.  Here,  however,  Car- 
teret could  see  where  Tom's  own  desperate  position 


THE   VAGARIES   OF   THE  HIGHER  LAW      227 

operated  to  furnish  a  probable  motive  for  the  crime. 
The  surest  way  to  head  off  suspicion  from  himself  was 
to  direct  it  strongly  toward  some  particular  person, 
and  this  he  had  been  able  to  do  conclusively  by  his 
access  to  Sandy's  clothes,  his  skill  in  making  up  to 
resemble  him,  and  by  the  episode  of  the  silk  purse. 
By  placing  himself  beyond  reach  during  the  next 
day,  he  would  not  be  called  upon  to  corroborate  or 
deny  any  inculpating  statements  which  Sandy  might 
make,  and  in  the  very  probable  case  that  the  crime 
should  be  summarily  aveng^ed,  any  such  statements 
on  Sandy's  part  would  be  regarded  as  mere  des- 
perate subterfuges  of  the  murderer  to  save  his  own 
life.     It  was  a  bad  affair. 

"  The  case  seems  clear,"  said  Carteret  reluctantly 
but  conclusively.  "  And  now,  wdiat  shall  we  do  about 
it?" 

"  I  want  you  to  print  a  handbill,"  said  Mr.  Dela- 
mere,  "  and  circulate  it  through  the  town,  stating 
that  Sandy  Campbell  is  innocent  and  Tom  Delamere 
guilty  of  this  crime.  If  this  is  not  done,  I  will  go 
myself  and  declare  it  to  all  who  will  listen,  and  I  will 
publicly  disown  the  villain  who  is  no  more  grandson 
of  mine.  There  is  no  deeper  sink  of  iniquity  into 
which  he  could  fall." 

Carteret's  thoughts  were  chasing  one  another  tu- 
multuously.  There  could  be  no  doubt  that  the  negro 
was  innocent,  from  the  present  aspect  of  affairs,  and 
he  must  not  be  lynched ;  but  in  what  sort  of  posi- 
tion would  the  white  people  be  placed,  if  Mr.  Dela- 
mere carried  out  his  Spartan  purpose  of  making  the 
true  facts  known  ?  The  white  people  of  the  city  had 
raised  the  issue  of  their  own  superior  morality,  and 
had   themselves   made   this   crime   a   race   question. 


228  THE  MARROW  OF   TRADITION 

The  success  of  the  impending  "  revolution,"  for  which 
he  and  his  confreres  had  labored  so  long,  depended 
in  large  measure  ujDon  the  maintenance  of  their  race 
prestige,  which  would  be  injured  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world  by  such  a  fiasco.  While  they  might  yet  win  by 
sheer  force,  their  cause  would  suffer  in  the  court  of 
morals,  where  they  might  stand  convicted  as  pirates, 
instead  of  being  applauded  as  patriots.  Even  the 
negroes  would  have  the  laugh  on  them,  - —  the  people 
whom  they  hoped  to  make  approve  and  justify  their 
own  despoilment.  To  be  laughed  at  by  the  negroes 
was  a  calamity  only  less  terrible  than  failure  or  death. 

Such  an  outcome  of  an  event  which  had  already 
been  heralded  to  the  four  corners  of  the  earth  would 
throw  a  cloud  of  suspicion  upon  the  stories  of  outrage 
which  had  gone  up  from  the  South  for  so  many 
years,  and  had  done  so  much  to  win  the  sympathy 
of  the  North  for  the  white  South  and  to  alienate  it 
from  the  colored  people.  The  reputation  of  the  race 
was  threatened.  They  must  not  lynch  the  negro,  and 
yet,  for  the  credit  of  the  town,  its  aristocrac}'-,  and  the 
race,  the  truth  of  this  ghastly  story  must  not  see  the 
light,  —  at  least  not  yet. 

"  Mr.  Delamere,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  am  shocked 
and  humiliated.  The  negro  must  be  saved,  of  course, 
but  —  consider  the  family  honor." 

"  Tom  is  no  longer  a  member  of  my  family.  I 
disown  him.  He  has  covered  the  family  name  —  my 
name,  sir  —  with  infamy.  We  have  no  longer  a 
family  honor.     I  wish  never  to  hear  his  name  spoken 


again  i 


!» 


For  several  minutes  Carteret  argued  with  his  old 
friend.  Then  he  went  into  the  other  room  and  con- 
sulted with  General  Belmont. 


THE  VAGARIES  OF  THE  HIGHER  LAW      229 

As  a  result  of  these  conferences,  and  of  certain 
urgent  messages  sent  out,  within  half  an  hour  thirty 
or  forty  of  the  leading  citizens  of  Wellington  were 
gathered  in  the  Morning  Chronicle  office.  Several 
other  curious  joersons,  observing  that  there  was  some- 
thing in  the  wind,  and  supposing  correctly  that  it  re- 
ferred to  the  projected  event  of  the  evening,  crowded 
in  with  those  who  had  been  invited. 

Carteret  was  in  another  room,  still  arguing  with 
Mr.  Delamere.  "  It 's  a  mere  formality,  sir,"  he  was 
saying  suavel}^  "  accompanied  by  a  mental  reservation. 
We  know  the  facts  ;  but  this  must  be  done  to  justify 
us,  in  the  eyes  of  the  mob,  in  calling  them  off  before 
they  accomplish  their  purpose." 

"  Carteret,"  said  the  old  man,  in  a  voice  eloquent 
of  the  struggle  through  which  he  had  passed,  "  I 
would  not  perjure  myself  to  prolong  my  own  miser- 
able existence  another  day,  but  God  will  forgive  a  sin 
committed  to  save  another's  life.  Upon  your  head 
be  it,  Carteret,  and  not  on  mine  I  " 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Carteret,  entering  with  Mr. 
Delamere  the  room  where  the  men  were  gathered, 
and  raising  his  hand  for  silence,  "  the  people  of  Wel- 
lington were  on  the  point  of  wreaking  vengeance  upon 
a  negro  who  was  supposed  to  have  been  guilty  of  a 
terrible  crime.  The  white  men  of  this  city,  impelled 
by  the  highest  and  holiest  sentiments,  were  about  to 
take  steps  to  defend  their  hearthstones  and  maintain 
the  purity  and  ascendency  of  their  race.  Your  pur- 
pose sprung  from  hearts  wounded  in  their  tenderest 
susceptibilities." 

"  'Kah,  'rah !  "  shouted  a  tipsy  sailor,  who  had 
edged  In  with  the  crowd. 

"  Bat  this  same  sense  of  justice,"  continued  Car- 


230  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION" 

teret  oratorically,  "  which  would  lead  you  to  visit 
swift  and  terrible  punishment  upon  the  guilty,  would 
not  permit  you  to  slay  an  innocent  man.  Even  a 
negro,  as  long  as  he  behaves  himself  and  keeps  in  his 
place,  is  entitled  to  the  protection  of  the  law.  We 
may  be  stern  and  unbending  in  the  punishment  of 
crime,  as  befits  our  masterful  race,  but  we  hold  the 
scales  of  justice  with  even  and  impartial  hand." 

"  'Rah  f  'mpa'tial  han'  !  "  cried  the  tipsy  sailor, 
who  was  immediately  ejected  with  slight  ceremony. 

"  We  have  discovered,  beyond  a  doubt,  that  the 
negro  Sandy  Campbell,  now  in  custody,  did  not  com- 
mit this  robbery  and  murder,  but  that  it  was  perpe- 
trated by  some  unknown  man,  who  has  fled  from  the 
city.  Our  venerable  and  distinguished  fellow  towns- 
man, Mr.  Delamere,  in  whose  employment  this  Camp- 
bell has  been  for  many  years,  will  vouch  for  his 
character,  and  states,  furthermore,  that  Campbell  was 
with  him  all  last  night,  covering  any  hour  at  which 
this  crime  could  have  been  committed." 

"  If  Mr.  Delamere  will  swear  to  that,' '  said  some 
one  in  the  crowd,  "  the  negro  should  not  be  lynched." 

There  were  murmurs  of  dissent.  The  preparations 
had  all  been  made.  There  would  be  great  disap- 
pointment if  the  lynching  did  not  occur. 

"  Let  Mr.  Delamere  swear,  if  he  wants  to  save  the 
nigger,"  came  again  from  the  crowd. 

*■'  Certainly,"  assented  Carteret.  "  Mr.  Delamere 
can  have  no  possible  objection  to  taking  the  oath.  Is 
there  a  notary  public  present,  or  a  justice  of  the 
peace  ?  " 

A  man  stepped  forward.  "  I  am  a  justice  of  the 
peace,"  he  announced. 

"  Very  well,  Mr.  Smith,"  said  Carteret,  recognizing 


THE  VAGARIES  OF  THE  HIGHER  LAW      231 

the  speaker.  "  With  yonr  permission,  I  will  formu- 
late the  oath,  and  Mr.  Delamere  may  repeat  it  after 
me,  if  he  will.     I  solemnly  swear,"  — 

"I  solemnly  swear,"  — 

Mr.  Delamere's  voice  might  have  come  from  the 
tomb,  so  hollow  and  unnatural  did  it  sound. 

"  So  help  me  God,"  — 

"  So  help  me  God,"  — 

*'  That  the  negro  Sandy  Campbell,  now  in  jail  on 
the  charge  of  murder,  robbery,  and  assault,  was  in  my 
presence  last  night  between  the  hours  of  eight  and 
two  o'clock." 

Mr.  Delamere  repeated  this  statement  in  a  firm 
voice  ;  but  to  Ellis,  who  was  in  the  secret,  his  words 
fell  uj^on  the  ear  like  clods  dropping  upon  the  coffin 
in  an  open  grave. 

'*  I  wish  to  add,"  said  General  Belmont,  stepping 
forward,  "  that  it  is  not  our  intention  to  interfere,  by 
anything  which  may  be  done  at  this  meeting,  with  the 
orderly  process  of  the  law,  or  to  advise  the  prisoner's 
immediate  release.  The  prisoner  will  remain  in  cus- 
tody, Mr.  Delamere,  Major  Carteret,  and  I  guarantee- 
ing that  he  will  be  proved  entirely  innocent  at  the 
preliminary  hearing  to-morrow  morning." 

Several  of  those  present  looked  relieved  ;  others 
were  plainly  disappointed  ;  but  when  the  meeting 
ended,  the  news  went  out  that  the  lynching  had  been 
given  up.  Carteret  immediately  wrote  and  had 
struck  off  a  handbill  giving  a  brief  statement  of  the 
proceedings,  and  sent  out  a  dozen  boys  to  distribute 
copies  among  the  people  in  the  streets.  That  no  pre- 
caution might  be  omitted,  a  call  was  issued  to  the 
Wellington  Grays,  the  crack  independent  military 
company  of  the  city,  who  in  an  incredibly  short  time 
were  on  guard  at  the  jail. 


232  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

Thus  a  slight  change  in  the  point  of  view  had 
demonstrated  the  entire  ability  of  the  leading  citizens 
to  maintain  the  dignified  and  orderly  processes  of  the 
law  whenever  they  saw  fit  to  do  so. 

The  night  passed  without  disorder,  beyond  the 
somewhat  rough  handling  of  two  or  three  careless 
negroes  that  caaie  in  the  way  of  small  parties  of  the 
disappointed  who  had  sought  alcoholic  consolation. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning,  a  preliminary  hear- 
ing of  the  charge  against  Campbell  was  had  before 
a  magistrate.  Mr.  Delamere,  perceptibly  older  and 
more  wizened  than  he  had  seemed  the  day  before, 
and  leaning  heavily  on  the  arm  of  a  servant,  repeated 
his  statement  of  the  evening  before.  Only  one  or  two 
witnesses  were  called,  among  whom  was  Mr.  Ellis, 
who  swore  positively  that  in  his  oj^inion  the  prisoner 
was  not  the  man  whom  he  had  seen  and  at  first  sujd- 
posed  to  be  Campbell.  The  most  sensational  piece 
of  testimony  was  that  of  Dr.  Price,  who  had  examined 
the  body,  and  who  swore  that  the  wound  in  the  head 
was  not  necessarily  fatal,  and  might  have  been  due  to 
a  fall,  —  that  she  had  more  than  likely  died  of  shock 
attendant  upon  the  robbery,  she  being  of  advanced 
age  and  feeble  health.  There  was  no  evidence,  he 
said,  of  any  other  personal  violence. 

Sandy  was  not  even  bound  over  to  the  grand  jury, 
but  was  discharged  upon  the  ground  that  there  was 
not  sufficient  evidence  upon  which  to  hold  him. 
Upon  his  release  he  received  the  congratulations  of 
many  present,  some  of  whom  would  cheerfully  have 
done  him  to  death  a  few  hours  before.  With  the 
childish  fickleness  of  a  mob,  they  now  experienced 
a  satisfaction  almost  as  gi'eat  as,  though  less  exciting 


THE   VAGARIES   OF  THE  HIGHER  LAW      233 

than,  that  attendant  upon  taking  life.  We  speak  of 
the  mysteries  of  inanimate  nature.  The  workings  of 
the  human  heart  are  the  profoundest  mystery  of  the 
universe.  One  moment  they  make  us  despair  of  our 
kind,  and  the  next  we  see  in  them  the  reflection  of 
the  divine  image.  Sandy,  having  thus  escaped  from 
the  Mr.  Hyde  of  the  mob,  now  received  the  benedic- 
tion of  its  Dr.  Jekyll.  Being  no  cynical  philosopher, 
and  realizing  how  nearly  the  jaws  of  death  had  closed 
upon  him,  he  was  profoundly  grateful  for  his  escape, 
and  felt  not  the  slightest  desire  to  investigate  or 
criticise  any  man's  motives. 

With  the  testimony  of  Dr.  Price,  the  worst  fea- 
ture of  the  affair  came  to  an  end.  The  murder  elim- 
inated or  rendered  doubtful,  the  crime  became  a  mere 
vulgar  robbery,  "the  extent  of  which  no  one  could 
estimate,  since  no  living  soul  knew  how  much  money 
Mrs.  Ochiltree  had  had  in  the  cedar  chest.  The  ab- 
surdity of  the  remaining  charge  became  more  fully 
apparent  in  the  light  of  the  reaction  from  the  excite- 
ment of  the  day  before. 

Nothing  further  was  ever  done  about  the  case ; 
but  though  the  crime  went  unpunished,  it  carried  evil 
in  its  train.  As  we  have  seen,  the  charge  against 
Campbell  had  been  made  against  the  whole  colored 
race.  All  over  the  United  States  the  Associated 
Press  had  flashed  the  report  of  another  dastardly  out- 
rage by  a  burly  black  brute, — all  black  brutes  it 
seems  are  burly,  —  and  of  the  impending  lynching 
with  its  prospective  horrors.  This  news,  being  highly 
sensational  in  its  character,  had  been  displayed  in 
large  black  type  on  the  front  pages  of  the  daily 
papers.  The  dispatch  that  followed,  to  the  effect  that 
the  accused  had  been  found  innocent  and  the  lynch- 


234  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

ing  frustrated,  received  sliglit  attention,  if  any,  in  a 
fine-print  paragraph  on  an  inside  page.  The  facts  of 
the  case  never  came  out  at  all.  The  family  honor  of 
the  Delameres  was  preserved,  and  the  prestige  of  the 
white  race  in  Wellington  was  not  seriously  imj^aired. 

Upon  leaving  the  preliminary  hearing,  old  Mr. 
Delamere  had  requested  General  Belmont  to  call  at 
his  house  during  the  day  upon  professional  business. 
This  the  general  did  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon. 

"  Belmont,"  said  Mr.  Delamere,  "  I  wish  to  make 
my  will.  I  should  have  drawn  it  with  my  own  hand  ; 
but  you  know  my  motives,  and  can  testify  to  my 
soundness  of  mind  and  memory." 

He  thereupon  dictated  a  will,  by  the  terms  of 
which  he  left  to  his  servant,  Sandy  Campbell,  three 
thousand  dollars,  as  a  mark  of  the  testator's  appre- 
ciation of  services  rendered  and  sufferings  endured 
by  Sandy  on  behalf  of  his  master.  After  some  minor 
dispositions,  the  whole  remainder  of  the  estate  was 
devised  to  Dr.  William  Miller,  in  trust  for  the  uses  of 
his  hospital  and  training-school  for  nurses,  on  condi- 
tion that  the  institution  be  incorporated  and  placed 
under  the  management  of  competent  trustees.  Tom 
Delamere  was  not  mentioned  in  the  will. 

"  There,  Belmont,"  he  said,  "  that  load  is  off  my 
mind.  Now,  if  you  will  call  in  some  witnesses,  — 
most  of  my  people  can  write,  —  I  shall  feel  entirely  at 
ease." 

The  will  was  signed  by  Mr.  Delamere,  and  wit- 
nessed by  Jeff  and  Billy,  two  servants  in  the  house, 
neither  of  whom  received  any  information  as  to  its 
contents,  beyond  the  statement  that  they  were  wit- 
nessing their  master's  will. 


THE  VAGARIES   OF  THE   HIGHER  LAW      235 

"  I  wish  to  leave  that  with  you  for  safe  keeping, 
Belmont,"  said  Mr.  Delamere,  after  the  witnesses 
had  retired.  "  Lock  it  up  in  your  safe  until  I  die, 
w^iich  will  not  be  very  long,  since  I  have  no  further 
desire  to  live." 

An  hour  later  IMr.  Delamere  suffered  a  third  para- 
lytic stroke,  frbm  which  he  died  two  days  afterwards, 
without  having  in  the  meantime  recovered  the  power 
of  speech. 

The  wall  was  never  produced.  The  servants  stated, 
and  General  Belmont  admitted,  that  Mr.  Delamere 
had  made  a  wdll  a  few  days  before  his  death;  but 
since  it  was  not  discoverable,  it  seemed  probable  that 
the  testator  had  destroyed  it.  This  was  all  the  more 
likely,  the  general  was  inclined  to  think,  because  the 
wall  had  been  of  a  most  unusual  character.  What 
the  contents  of  the  will  were,  he  of  course  did  not 
state,  it  having  been  made  under  the  seal  of  profes- 
sional secrecy. 

This  suppression  w^as  justified  by  the  usual  race 
argument :  Miller's  hospital  w^as  already  well  estab- 
lished, and,  like  most  negro  institutions,  could  no 
doubt  rely  upon  Northern  philanthropy  for  any  fur- 
ther support  it  might  need.  Mr.  Delamere's  prop- 
erty belonged  of  right  to  the  w^hite  race,  and  by  the 
higher  law  should  remain  in  the  possession  of  white 
people.  Loyalty  to  one's  race  was  a  more  sacred 
principle  than  deference  to  a  weak  old  man's  whims. 

Having  reached  this  conclusion.  General  Belmont's 
first  impulse  w^as  to  destroy  the  wall ;  on  second 
thoughts  he  locked  it  carefully  away  in  his  safe.  He 
would  hold  it  awhile.  It  might  some  time  be  ad- 
visable to  talk  the  matter  over  with  young  Delamere, 
who  was  of  a  fickle  disposition  and  might  wish  to 
change  his  legal  adviser. 


XXVIII 

m   SEASON   AND   OUT 

Wellington  soon  resumed  its  wonted  calm,  and 
in  a  few  weeks  the  intended  lynching  was  only  a 
memory.  The  robbery  and  assault,  however,  still 
remained  a  mystery  to  all  but  a  chosen  few.  The 
affair  had  been  dropped  as  absolutely  as  though  it 
had  never  occurred.  No  colored  man  ever  learned  the 
reason  of  this  sudden  change  of  front,  and  Sandy 
Campbell's  loyalty  to  his  old  employer's  memory 
kept  him  silent.  Tom  Delamere  did  not  offer  to 
retain  Sandy  in  his  service,  though  he  presented 
him  with  most  of  the  old  gentleman's  wardrobe.  It 
is  only  justice  to  Tom  to  state  that  up  to  this  time  he 
had  not  been  informed  of  the  contents  of  his  grand- 
father's latest  will.  Major  Carteret  gave  Sandy  em- 
ployment as  butler,  thus  making  a  sort  of  vicarious 
atonement,  on  the  part  of  the  white  race,  of  which 
the  major  felt  himself  in  a  way  the  embodiment,  for 
the  risk  to  which  Sandy  had  been  subjected. 

Shortly  after  these  events  Sandy  was  restored  to 
the  bosom  of  the  church,  and,  enfolded  by  its  shelter- 
ing arms,  was  no  longer  tempted  to  stray  from  the 
path  of  rectitude,  but  became  even  a  more  rigid 
Methodist  than  before  his  recent  troubles. 

Tom  Delamere  did  not  call  upon  Clara  again  in 
the  character  of  a  lover.  Of  course  they  could  not 
help  meeting,  from  time  to  time,  but  he  never  dared 


IN  SEASON  AND  OUT  237 

presume  upon  their  former  relations.  Indeed,  the 
social  atmosphere  of  Wellington  remained  so  frigid 
toward  Delamere  that  he  left  town,  and  did  not  return 
for  several  months. 

Ellis  was  aware  that  Delamere  had  been  thrown 
over,  but  a  certain  delicacy  restrained  him  from  fol- 
lowing up  immediately  the  advantage  which  the  ab- 
sence of  his  former  rival  gave  him.  It  seemed  to 
him,  with  the  quixotry  of  a  clean,  pure  mind,  that 
Clara  would  pass  through  a  period  of  mourning  for 
her  lost  illusion,  and  that  it  would  be  indelicate,  for 
the  time  being,  to  approach  her  with  a  lover's  atten- 
tions. The  work  of  the  office  had  been  unusually 
heavy  of  late.  The  major,  deeply  absorbed  in  poli- 
tics, left  the  detail  work  of  the  paper  to  Ellis.  Into 
the  intimate  counsels  of  the  revolutionary  committee 
Ellis  had  not  been  admitted,  nor  would  he  have  de- 
sired to  be.  He  knew,  of  course,  in  a  general  way, 
the  results  that  it  was  sought  to  achieve  ;  and  while 
he  did  not  see  their  necessity,  he  deferred  to  the 
views  of  older  men,  and  was  satisfied  to  remain  in 
ignorance  of  anything  which  he  might  disapprove. 
Moreover,  his  own  personal  affairs  occupied  his  mind 
to  an  extent  that  made  politics  or  any  other  subject 
a  matter  of  minor  importance. 

As  for  Dr.  Miller,  he  never  learned  of  Mr.  Dela- 
mere's  good  intentions  toward  his  institution,  but 
regretted  the  old  gentleman's  death  as  the  loss  of  a 
sincere  friend  and  well-wisher  of  his  race  in  their 
unequal  struggle. 

Despite  the  untiring  zeal  of  Carteret  and  his  asso- 
ciates, the  campaign  for  the  restriction  of  the  suffrage, 
which  was  to  form  the  basis  of  a  permanent  white 
supremacy,  had  seemed  to  languish  for  a  while  after 


y 


238  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

the  Ochiltree  affair.  The  lull,  however,  was  only  tem- 
porary, and  more  apparent  than  real,  for  the  forces 
adverse  to  the  negro  were  merely  gathering  strength 
for  a  more  vigorous  assault.  While  little  was  said  in 
AYellington,  public  sentiment  all  over  the  country 
became  every  day  more  favorable  to  the  views  of  the 
conspirators.  The  nation  was  rushing  forward  with 
giant  strides  toward  colossal  wealth  and  world-domin- 
ion, before  the  exigencies  of  which  mere  abstract 
ethical  theories  must  not  be  permitted  to  stand.  The 
same  argument  that  justified  the  conquest  of  an  in- 
ferior nation  could  not  be  denied  to  those  who  sought 
the  suppression  of  an  inferior  race.  In  the  South,  an 
obscure  jealousy  of  the  negro's  progress,  an  obscure 
fear  of  the  very  equality  so  contemptuously  denied, 
furnished  a  rich  soil  for  successful  agitation.  Statis- 
tics of  crime,  ingeniously  manipulated,  were  made  to 
present  a  fearful  showing  against  the  negro.  Vital 
statistics  were  made  to  prove  that  he  had  degenerated 
from  an  imaginary  standard  of  physical  excellence 
which  had  existed  under  the  benio'u  influence  of 
slavery.  Constant  lynchings  emphasized  his  impo- 
tence, and  bred  everywhere  a  growing  contempt  for 
his  rights. 

At  the  North,  a  new  Pharaoh  had  risen,  who  knew 
not  Israel,  —  a  new  generation,  wdio  knew  little  of  the 
fierce  passions  which  had  played  around  the  negro  in 
a  past  epoch,  and  derived  their  opinions  of  him  from 
the  "  coon  song  "  and  the  police  reports.  Those  of 
his  old  friends  who  survived  were  disappointed  that  he 
had  not  .flown  with  clipped  wings  ;  that  he  had  not 
in  one  generation  of  limited  opportunity  attained  the 
level  of  the  whites.  The  whole  race  question  seemed 
to  have  reached  a  sort  of  ijjij^asse,  a  blind  alley,  of 


IN  SEASON  AND   OUT  239 

which  no  one  could  see  the  outlet.  The  negro  had 
become  a  target  at  which  any  one  might  try  a  shot. 
Schoolboys  gravely  debated  the  question  as  to  whether 
or  not  the  negro  should  exercise  the  franchise.  The 
pessimist  gave  him  up  in  despair ;  while  the  optimist, 
smilingly  confident  that  everything  would  come  out 
all  riofht  in  the  end,  also  turned  aside  and  went  his 
buoyant  way  to  more  pleasing  themes. 

For  a  time  there  were  white  men  in  the  state  who 
opposed  any  reactionary  step  unless  it  were  of  general 
application.  They  were  conscientious  men,  who  had 
learned  the  ten  commandments  and  wished  to  do 
right ;  but  this  class  was  a  small  minority,  and  their 
objections  were  soon  silenced  by  the  all-powerful  race 
arofument.  Selfishness  is  the  most  constant  of  human 
motives.  Patriotism,  humanity,  or  the  love  of  God 
may  lead  to  sporadic  outbursts  which  sweej)  away  the 
heaped-up  wrongs  of  centuries ;  but  they  languish  at 
times,  while  the  love  of  self  works  on  ceaselessly,  un- 
wearyingly,  burrowing  always  at  the  very  roots  of  life, 
and  heaping  up  fresh  wrongs  for  other  centuries  to 
sweep  away.  The  state  was  at  the  mercy  of  venal 
and  self-seeking  politicians,  bent  upon  regaining  their 
ascendency  at  any  cost,  stultifying  their  own  minds 
by  vague  sophistries  and  high-sounding  phrases,  which 
deceived  none  but  those  who  wished  to  be  deceived, 
and  these  but  imperfectly ;  and  dulling  the  public 
conscience  by  a  loud  clamor  in  which  the  calm  voice 
of  truth  was  for  the  moment  silenced.  So  the  cause 
went  on. 

Carteret,  as  spokesman  of  the  campaign,  and  sin- 
cerest  of  all  its  leaders,  performed  prodigies  of  labor. 
The  Morning  Chronicle  proclaimed,  in  season  and 
out,  the  doctrine  of   "  White  Supremacy."     Leaving 


240  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

the  paper  in  charge  of  Ellis,  the  major  made  a  tour  of 
the  state,  rousing  the  white  people  of  the  better  class 
to  an  appreciation  of  the  terrible  danger  which  con- 
fronted them  in  the  possibility  that  a  few  negroes 
might  hold  a  few  offices  or  dictate  the  terms  upon 
which  white  men  should  fill  them.  Difficulties  were 
explained  away.  The  provisions  of  the  Federal  Con- 
stitution, it  was  maintained,  must  yield  to  the  "  higher 
law,"  and  if  the  Constitution  could  neither  be  altered 
nor  bent  to  this  end,  means  must  be  found  to  circum- 
vent it. 

The  device  finally  hit  upon  for  disfranchising  the 
colored  people  in  this  particular  state  was  the  notori- 
ous "  grandfather  clause."  After  providing  various 
restrictions  of  the  suffrage,  based  upon  education,  char- 
acter, and  property,  which  it  was  deemed  would  in 
effect  disfranchise  the  colored  race,  an  exception  was 
made  in  favor  of  all  citizens  whose  fathers  or  grand- 
fathers had  been  entitled  to  vote  prior  to  18G7.  Since 
none  but  white  men  could  vote  prior  to  1867,  this 
exception  obviously  took  in  the  poor  and  ignorant 
whites,  while  the  same  class  of  negroes  were  excluded. 

It  was  ingenious,  but  it  was  not  fair,  In  due  time 
a  constitutional  convention  was  called,  in  which  the 
above  scheme  was  adopted  and  submitted  to  a  vote  of 
the  people  for  ratification.  The  campaign  was  fought 
on  the  color  line.  Many  white  Republican^,  deluded 
with  the  hope  that  by  the  elimination  of  the  negro 
vote  their  party  might  receive  accessions  from  the 
Democratic  ranks,  went  over  to  the  white  party.  By 
fraud  in  one  place,  by  terrorism  in  another,  and 
everywhere  by  the  resistless  moral  force  of  the  united 
whites,  the  negroes  were  reduced  to  the  apathy  of 
despair,  their  few  white  allies  demoralized,   and  the 


IN  SEASON  AND  OUT  241 

amendment  adopted  by  a  large  majority.  The  negroes 
were  taught  that  this  is  a  white  man's  country,  and 
that  the  sooner  they  made  up  their  minds  to  this  fact, 
the  better  for  all  concerned.  The  white  people  would 
be  good  to  them  so  long  as  they  behaved  themselves 
and  kept  their  place.  As  theoretical  equals,  —  prac- 
tical equality  being  forever  out  of  the  question,  either 
by  nature  or  by  law,  —  there  could  have  been  nothing 
but  strife  between  them,  in  which  the  weaker  party 
would  invariably  have  suffered  most. 

Some  colored  men  accepted  the  situation  thus  out- 
lined, if  not  as  desirable,  at  least  as  inevitable.  Most 
of  them,  however,  had  little  faith  in  this  condescend- 
ing friendliness  which  was  to  take  the  place  of  con- 
stitutional rights.  They  knew  they  had  been  treated 
unfairly;  tlmt  their  enemies  had  prevailed  against 
them ;  that  their  whilom  friends  had  stood  passively 
by  and  seen  them  undone.  Many  of  the  most  enter- 
prising and  progressive  left  the  state,  and  those  who 
remain  still  labor  under  a  sense  of  wrong  and  out- 
rage which  renders  them  distinctly  less  valuable  as 
citizens. 

The  great  steal  was  made,  but  the  thieves  did  not 
turn  honest,  —  the  scheme  still  shows  the  mark  of  the 
burglar's  tools.  Sins,  like  chickens,  come  home  to 
roost.  The  South  paid  a  fearful  price  for  the  wrong 
of  negro  slavery  ;  in  some  form  or  other  it  will  doubt- 
less reap  the  fruits  of  this  later  iniquity. 

Drastic  as  were  these  "  reforms,"  the  results  of 
which  we  have  anticipated  somewhat,  since  the  new 
Constitution  was  not  to  take  effect  immediately,  they 
moved  all  too  slowly  for  the  little  coterie  of  Welling- 
ton conspirators,   whose  ambitions  and  needs  urged 


242  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

theai  to  prompt  action.  Under  the  new  Constitution 
it  would  be  two  full  years  before  tbe  "  nigger  amend- 
ment" became  effective,  and  meanwhile  the  Wel- 
lington district  would  remain  hopelessly  Republican. 
The  committee  decided,  about  two  months  before  the 
fall  election,  that  an  active  local  campaign  must  be 
carried  on,  with  a  view  to  discourage  the  negroes  from 
attending  the  polls  on  election  day. 

The  question  came  up  for  discussion  one  forenoon 
in  a  meeting  at  the  office  of  the  Morning  Chronicle, 
at  which  all  of  the  "  Big  Three  "  were  present. 

"  Something  must  be  done,"  declared  McBane, 
"  and  that  damn  quick.  Too  many  white  people  are 
saying  that  it  will  be  better  to  wait  until  the  amend- 
ment goes  into  effect.  That  would  mean  to  leave  the 
niggers  in  charge  of  this  town  for  two  years  after  the 
state  has  declared  for  white  supremacy  !  I  'm  opposed 
to  leaving  it  in  their  hands  one  hour,  —  them  's  my 
sentiments !  " 

This  proved  to  be  the  general  opinion,  and  the  dis- 
cussion turned  to  the  subject  of  ways  and  means. 

"  What  became  of  that  editorial  in  the  niofsrer 
paper  ?  "  inquired  the  general  in  his  blandest  tones, 
cleverly  directing  a  smoke  ring  toward  the  ceiling. 
"  It  lost  some  of  its  point  back  there,  when  we  came 
near  lynching  that  nigger  ;  but  now  that  that  has 
blown  over,  why  would  n't  it  be  a  good  thing  to  bring 
into  play  at  the  present  juncture  ?  Let 's  read  it  over 
again." 

Carteret  extracted  the  paper  from  the  pigeon-hole 
where  he  had  placed  it  some  months  before.  The 
article  was  read  aloud  with  emphasis  and  discussed 
phrase  by  phrase.  Of  its  wording  there  could  be  little 
criticism,  —  it  was  temperately  and  even  cautiously 


IN  SEASON   AND   OUT  243 

phrased.  As  suggested  by  the  general,  the  Ochiltree 
affair  had  proved  that  it  was  not  devoid  of  truth.  Its 
great  offensiveness  lay  in  its  boldness :  that  a  negro 
should  publish  in  a  newspaper  what  white  people 
would  scarcely  acknowledge  to  themselves  in  secret 
was  much  as  though  a  Russian  moiijik  or  a  German 
l)easant  should  rush  into  print  to  question  the  divine 
right  o£  the  Lord's  Anointed.  The  article  was  racial 
Te^e-majeste  in  the  most  aggravated  form.  A  peg 
was  needed  upon  which  to  hang  a  coup  cVetat^  and 
this  editorial  offered  the  requisite  opportunity.  It 
was  unanimously  decided  to  republish  the  obnoxious 
article,  with  comment  adapted  to  fire  the  inflammable 
Southern  heart  and  rouse  it  against  any  further  self- 
assertion  of  the  negroes  in  politics  or  elsewhere. 

"  The  time  is  ripe  !  "  exclaimed  McBane.  "  In  a 
month  we  can  have  the  niggers  so  scared  that  they 
won't  dare  stick  their  heads  out  of  doors  on  'lection 
day." 

"  I  wonder,"  observed  the  general  thoughtfully, 
after  this  conclusion  had  been  reached,  "  if  we 
could  n't  have  Jerry  fetch  us  some  liquor  ?  " 

Jerry  appeared  in  response  to  the  usual  summons. 
The  general  gave  him  the  money,  and  ordered  three 
Calhoun  cocktails.  When  Jerry  returned  with  the 
glasses  on  a  tray,  the  general  observed  him  with 
pointed  curiosity. 

"What  in  h — 11  is  the  matter  with  you,  Jerry? 
Your  black  face  is  splotched  with  brown  and  yellow 
patches,  and  your  hair  shines  as  though  you  had  fallen 
head-foremost  into  a  firkin  of  butter.  "What  's  the 
matter  with  you?  " 

Jerry  seemed  much  embarrassed  by  this  inquiry. 

"Nothin'j  suh,  nothin',"  he  stammered.     "It's  — 


244  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

it 's  jes'  somethln'  I  be'n  pnttin'  on  my  hair,  suh,  ter 
improve  de  quality,  suh." 

"  Jerry,"  returned  the  general,  bending  a  solemn 
look  upon  the  porter,  "  you  have  been  playing  with 
edged  tools,  and  your  days  are  numbered.  You  have 
been  reading  the  Afro- American  Banner." 

He  shook  open  the  paper,  which  he  had  retained  in 
his  hand,  and  read  from  one  of  the  advertisements  :  — 

"  '  Kinky,  curly  hair  made  straight  in  two  applica- 
tions. Dark  skins  lightened  two  shades  ;  mulattoes 
turned  perfectly  white.' 

"  This  stuff  is  rank  poison,  Jerry,"  continued  the 
general  with  a  mock  solemnity  w^hich  did  not  impose 
upon  Jerry,  who  nevertheless  listened  with  an  air  of 
great  alarm.  He  suspected  that  the  general  was  mak- 
ing fun  of  him ;  but  he  also  knew  that  the  general 
would  like  to  think  that  Jerry  believed  him  in  earnest ; 
and  to  please  the  white  folks  was  Jerry's  consistent 
aim  in  life.  "  I  can  see  the  signs  of  decay  in  your 
face,  and  your  hair  will  all  fall  out  in  a  week  or  two 
'at  the  latest,  —  mark  my  words  !  " 

McBane  had  listened  to  this  pleasantry  with  a  sar- 
donic sneer.  It  was  a  waste  of  valuable  time.  To 
Carteret  it  seemed  in  doubtful  taste.  These  grotesque 
advertisements  had  their  tragic  side.  They  were  proof 
that  the  negroes  had  read  the  handwriting  on  the  wall. 
These  pitiful  attempts  to  change  their  physical  char- 
acteristics were  an  acknowledgment,  on  their  own  part, 
that  the  negro  was  doomed,  and  that  the  white  man 
was  to  inherit  the  earth  and  hold  all  other  races  under 
his  heel.  For,  as  the  months  had  passed,  Carteret's 
thoughts,  centring  more  and  more  upon  the  negro, 
had  led  him  farther  and  farther,  until  now  he  was 
firmly  convinced  that  there  w^as  no  permanent  place 


IN  SEASON  AND   OUT  245 

for  the  negro  in  the  United  States,  if  indeed  any- 
where in  the  world,  except  under  the  ground.  More 
pathetic  even  than  Jerry's  efforts  to  escape  from  the 
universal  doom  of  his  race  was  his  ignorance  that  even 
if  he  could,  by  some  strange  alchemy,  bleach  his  skin 
and  straighten  his  hair,  there  would  still  remain, 
underneath  it  all,  only  the  unbleached  darky,  —  the 
ass  in  the  lion's  skin. 

When  the  general  had  finished  his  facetious  lecture, 
Jerry  backed  out  of  the  room  shamefacedly,  though 
affecting  a  greater  confusion  than  he  really  felt. 
Jerry  had  not  reasoned  so  closely  as  Carteret,  but  he 
had  realized  that  it  was  a  distinct  advantage  to  be 
white, — an  advantage  which  white  people  had  utilized 
to  secure  all  the  best  things  in  the  world ;  and  he  had 
entertained  the  vague  hope  that  by  changing  his  com- 
plexion he  might  share  this  prerogative.  While  he 
suspected  the  general's  sincerity,  he  nevertheless  felt 
a  little  apprehensive  lest  the  general's  prediction 
about  the  effects  of  the  face-bleach  and  other  prepa- 
rations might  prove  true,  —  the  general  was  a  white 
gentleman  and  ought  to  know,  —  and  decided  to  aban- 
don their  use. 

This  purpose  was  strengthened  by  his  next  inter- 
view with  the  major.  AVhen  Carteret  summoned  him, 
an  hour  later,  after  the  other  gentlemen  had  taken 
their  leave,  Jerry  had  washed  his  head  thoroughly  and 
there  remained  no  trace  of  the  pomade.  An  attempt 
to  darken  the  lighter  spots  in  his  cuticle  by  the  appli- 
cation of  printer's  ink  had  not  proved  equally  success- 
ful, —  the  retouching  left  the  spots  as  much  too  dark 
as  they  had  formerly  been  too  light. 

"Jerry,"  said  Carteret  sternly,  "when  I  hired  you 
to  work  for  the  Chronicle,  you  were  black.     The  word 


246  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

'  negro  '  means  '  black.'  The  best  negro  is  a  black 
negro,  of  the  pure  type,  as  it  came  from  the  hand  of 
God.  If  you  wish  to  get  along  well  with  the  white 
people,  the  blacker  you  are  the  better,  —  white  people 
do  not  like  negroes  who  want  to  be  white.  A  man 
should  be  content  to  remain  as  God  made  him  and 
where  God  placed  him.  So  no  more  of  this  nonsense. 
Are  you  going  to  vote  at  the  next  election?  " 

"  What  would  you  'vise  me  ter  do,  suh  ?  "  asked 
Jerry  cautiously. 

"  I  do  not  advise  you.  You  ought  to  have  sense 
enough  to  see  where  your  own  interests  lie.  I  put  it 
to  you  whether  you  cannot  trust  yourself  more  safely 
in  the  hands  of  white  gentlemen,  who  are  your  true 
friends,  than  in  the  hands  of  ignorant  and  purchas- 
able negroes  and  unscrupulous  white  scoundrels  ?  " 

"  Dere  's  no  doubt  about  it,  suh,"  assented  Jerry, 
with  a  vehemence  proportioned  to  his  desire  to  get 
back  into  favor.  "  I  ain'  gwine  ter  have  nothin'  ter 
do  wid  de  'lection,  suh  !  Ef  I  don'  vote,  I  kin  keep 
my  job,  can't  I,  suh  ?  " 

The  major  eyed  Jerry  with  an  air  of  supreme  dis- 
gust. What  could  be  expected  of  a  race  so  utterly  de- 
void of  tact  ?  It  seemed  as  though  this  negro  thought 
a  white  gentleman  might  want  to  bribe  him  to  remain 
away  from  the  polls  ;  and  the  negro's  willingness  to 
accept  the  imaginary  bribe  demonstrated  the  venal 
nature  of  the  colored  race,  —  its  entire  lack  of  moral 
jmnciple  ! 

''  You  will  retain  your  place,  Jerry,"  he  said  se- 
verely, "  so  long  as  you  perform  your  duties  to  my 
satisfaction  and  behave  yourself  properly." 

With  this  grandiloquent  subterfuge  Carteret  turned 
to  his  next  article  on  white  supremacy.     Jerry  did 


IN  SEASON  AND   OUT  247 

not  delude  himself  with  any  fine-spun  sophistry.  He 
knew  perfectly  well  that  he  held  his  job  upon  the 
condition  that  he  stayed  away  from  the  polls  at  the 
approaching  election.     Jerry  was  a  fool  — 

"  The  world  of  fools  hath  such  a  store. 
That  he  who  would  not  see  an  ass, 
Must  stay  at  home  and  shut  his  door 
And  break  his  looking'-g'lass." 


*o  o' 


But   while  no   one  may  be  entirely  wise,  there  are 
degrees  of  folly,  and  Jerry  was  not  all  kinds  of  a  fool. 


XXIX 

MUTTERINGS   OF   THE   STORM 

Events  moved  rapidly  during  the  next  few  days. 
The  reproduction,  in  the  Chronicle,  of  the  article  from 
the  Afro- American  Banner,  with  Carteret's  inflam- 
matory comment,  took  immediate  effect.  It  touched 
the  Southern  white  man  in  his  most  sensitive  spot. 
To  him  such  an  article  was  an  insult  to  white  woman- 
hood, and  must  be  resented  by  some  active  steps,  — 
mere  words  would  be  no  answer  at  all.  To  meet  words 
with  words  upon  such  a  subject  would  be  to  acknow- 
ledge the  equality  of  the  negro  and  his  right  to  discuss 
or  criticise  the  conduct  of  the  white  people. 

The  colored  people  became  alarmed  at  the  murmur- 
ings  of  the  whites,  which  seemed  to  presage  a  coming 
storm.  A  number  of  them  sought  to  arm  themselves, 
but  ascertained,  upon  inquiring  at  the  stores,  that  no 
white  merchant  would  sell  a  negro  firearms.  Since 
all  the  dealers  in  this  sort  of  merchandise  were  white 
men,  the  negroes  had  to  be  satisfied  with  oiling  up 
the  old  army  muskets  which  some  of  them  possessed, 
and  the  few  revolvers  with  which  a  small  rowdy  ele- 
ment generally  managed  to  keep  themselves  supplied. 
Upon  an  effort  being  made  to  purchase  firearms  from 
a  Northern  city,  the  express  company,  controlled  by 
local  men,  refused  to  accept  the  consignment.  The 
white  people,  on  the  other  hand,  procured  both  arms 
and  ammunition  in  large  quantities,  and  the  Welling- 


MUTTERIXGS   OF  THE   STORM  249 

ton  Grays  drilled  with  great  assiduity  at  their  ar- 
mory. 

All  this  went  on  without  any  public  disturbance  of 
the  town's  tranquillity.  A  stranger  would  have  seen 
nothing  to  excite  his  curiosity.  The  white  people  did 
their  talking  among  themselves,  and  merely  grew  more 
distant  in  their  manner  toward  the  colored  folks, 
who  instinctively  closed  their  ranks  as  the  whites 
drew  away.  With  each  day  that  passed  the  feeling 
grew  more  tense.  The  editor  of  the  Afro-American 
Banner,  whose  office  had  been  quietly  garrisoned  for 
several  nights  by  armed  negroes,  became  frightened, 
and  disappeared  from  the  town  between  two  suns. 

The  conspirators  were  jubilant  at  the  complete 
success  of  their  plans.  It  only  remained  for  them  to 
so  direct  this  aroused  public  feeling  that  it  might 
completely  accomplish  the  desired  end,  —  to  change 
the  political  complexion  of  the  city  government  and 
assure  the  ascendency  of  the  whites  until  the  amend- 
ment should  go  into  effect.  A  revolution,  and  not  a 
riot,  was  contemplated. 

With  this  end  in  view,  another  meeting  was  called 
at  Carteret's  office. 

"  We  are  now  ready,"  announced  General  Belmont, 
"  for  the  final  act  of  this  drama.  We  must  decide 
promptly,  or  events  may  run  away  from  us." 

"  AVhat  do  you  suggest  ?  "  asked  Carteret. 

"  Down  in  the  American  tropics,"  continued  the 
general,  "  they  have  a  way  of  doing  things.  I  was  in 
Nicaragua,  ten  years  ago,  when  Paterno's  revolution 
drove  out  Igorroto's  government.  It  was  as  easy  as 
falling  off  a  log.  Paterno  had  the  arms  and  the  best 
men.  Igorroto  was  not  looking  for  trouble,  and  the 
guns  were  at  his  breast  before  he  knew  it.     We  have 


250  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

the  gims.  The  negroes  are  not  expecting  trouble,  and 
are  easy  to  manage  compared  with  the  fiery  mixture 
that  flourishes  in  the  tropics." 

"  I  should  not  advocate  murder,"  returned  Carteret. 
"  We  are  animated  by  high  and  holy  principles.  We 
wish  to  right  a  wrong,  to  remedy  an  abuse,  to  save  our 
state  from  anarchy  and  our  race  from  humiliation. 
I  don't  object  to  frightening  the  negroes,  but  I  am 
opposed  to  unnecessary  bloodshed." 

"  I  'm  not  quite  so  particular,"  struck  in  McBane. 
"  They  need  to  be  taught  a  lesson,  and  a  nigger  more 
or  less  would  n't  be  missed.  There  's  too  many  of  'em 
now." 

"  Of  course,"  continued  Carteret,  "  if  we  should 
decide  upon  a  certain  mode  of  procedure,  and  the 
negroes  should  resist,  a  different  reasoning  might 
apply  ;  but  I  will  have  no  premeditated  murder." 

"  In  Central  and  South  America,"  observed  the 
general  reflectively,  "  none  are  hurt  except  those  who 
get  in  the  way." 

"  There  '11  be  no  niggers  hurt,"  said  McBane  con- 
temptuously, "  unless  they  strain  themselves  running. 
One  white  man  can  chase  a  hundred  of  'em.  I  've 
managed  five  hundred  at  a  time.  I  '11  pay  for  burying 
all  the  niggers  that  are  killed." 

The  conference  resulted  in  a  well-defined  plan,  to  be 
put  into  operation  the  following  day,  by  which  the 
city  government  was  to  be  wrested  from  the  Republi- 
cans and  their  negro  allies. 

"  And  now,"  said  General  Belmont,  "  while  we  are 
cleansing  the  Augean  stables,  we  may  as  well  remove 
the  cause  as  the  effect.  There  are  several  negroes  too 
many  in  this  town,  which  will  be  much  the  better 
without  them.     There 's  that  yellow  lawyer,  Watson. 


MUTTERIXGS  OF  THE  STORM  251 

He 's  altogether  too  mouthy,  and  has  too  much 
business.  Every  nigger  that  gets  into  trouble  sends 
for  Watson,  and  white  lawyers,  with  families  to  sup- 
port and  social  positions  to  keep  up,  are  deprived  of 
their  legitimate  source  of  income."  

"There's  that  damn  nigger  real  estate  agent," 
blurted  out  McBane.  "  Billy  Kitchen  used  to  get 
most  of  the  nigger  business,  but  this  darky  has  almost 
driven  him  to  the  poorhouse.  A  white  business  man 
is  entitled  to  a  living  in  his  own  profession  and  his 
own  home.  That  nio-o^er  don't  belong;  here  nohow. 
He  came  from  the  North  a  year  or  two  ago,  and  is 
hand  in  glove  with  Barber,  the  nigger  editor,  which  is 
enough  of  itself  to  damn  him.     He  'II  have  to  go  !  " 

"  How  about  the  collector  of  the  port  ?  " 

"  ^Ye  'd  better  not  touch  him.  It  would  bring  the 
government  down  upon  us,  which  we  want  to  avoid. 
We  don't  need  to  worry  about  the  nigger  preachers 
either.  They  want  to  stay  here,  where  the  loaves  and 
the  fishes  are.  We  can  make  'em  write  letters  to  the 
newspapers  justifying  our  course,  as  a  condition  of 
their  remaining." 

"  What  about  Billino^s  ?  "  asked  McBane.  Billinsfs 
was  the  white  Republican  mayor.  "  Is  that  skunk  to 
be  allowed  to  stay  in  town  ?  " 

*'  No,"  returned  the  general,  "  every  white  Re- 
publican office-holder  ought  to  be  made  to  go.  This 
town  is  only  big  enough  for  Democrats,  and  negroes 
who  can  be  taught  to  keep  their  place." 

"  What  about  the  colored  doctor,"  queried  McBane, 
"with  the  hospital,  and  the  diamond  ring,  and  the 
carriage,  and  the  other  fallals  ?  " 

"  I  should  n't  interfere  with  Miller,"  replied  the 
general  decisively.      "  He 's  a  very  good   sort   of  a 


252  THE  MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

negro,  does  n't  meddle  with  politics,  nor  tread  on  any- 
one else's  toes.  His  father  was  a  good  citizen,  which 
counts  in  his  favor.  He 's  spending  money  in  the 
community  too,  and  contributes  to  its  prosperit3^" 

"  That  sort  of  nigger,  though,  sets  a  bad  example," 
retorted  McBane.  "  They  make  it  all  the  harder  to 
keep  the  rest  of  'em  down." 

"  '  One  swallow  does  not  make  a  summer,'  "  quoted 
the  general.  "  When  we  get  things  arranged,  there  '11 
be  no  trouble.  A  stream  cannot  rise  higher  than  its 
fountain,  and  a  smart  nigger  without  a  constituency 
will  no  longer  be  an  object  of  fear.  I  say,  let  the 
doctor  alone." 

"  He  '11  have  to  keep  mighty  quiet,  though,"  mut- 
tered McBane  discontentedly.  "I  don't  like  smart 
niggers.  I  've  had  to  shoot  several  of  them,  in  the 
course  of  my  life." 

"  Personally,  I  dislike  the  man,"  interposed  Car- 
teret, "  and  if  I  consulted  my  own  inclinations,  would 
say  expel  him  with  the  rest;  but  my  grievance  is  a 
personal  one,  and  to  gratify  it  in  that  way  would  be  a 
loss  to  the  community.  I  wish  to  be  strictly  impartial 
in  this  matter,  and  to  take  no  step  which  cannot 
be  entirely  justified  by  a  wdse  regard  for  the  public 
welfare." 

"  What 's  the  use  of  all  this  hypocrisy,  gentlemen  ?  " 
sneered  McBane.  "  Every  last  one  of  us  has  an  axe 
to  grind  !  The  major  may  as  well  put  an  edge  on  his. 
We  '11  never  get  a  better  chance  to  have  things  our 
way.  If  this  nigger  doctor  annoys  the  major,  we  '11 
run  him  out  with  the  rest.  This  is  a  white  man's 
country,  and  a  white  man's  city,  and  no  nigger  has 
any  business  here  when  a  white  man  wants  him  gone  !  '* 

Carteret  frowned  darkly  at  this  brutal  character!- 


MUTIERINGS   OF  THE   STORM  253 

zation  of  their  motives.  It  robbed  the  enterprise  of 
all  its  poetry,  and  put  a  solemn  act  of  revolution  upon 
the  plane  of  a  mere  vulgar  theft  of  power.  Even  the 
general  winced. 

"I  would  not  consent,"  he  said  irritably,  "to 
Miller's  being  disturbed." 

McBane  made  no  further  objection. 

There  was  a  discreet  knock  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in,"  said  Carteret. 

Jerry  entered.  "  Mistuh  Ellis  wants  ter  speak  ter 
you  a  minute,  suh,"  he  said. 

Carteret  excused  himself  and  left  the  room. 

"Jerry,"  said  the  general,  "you  lump  of  ebony, 
the  sight  of  you  reminds  me  I  If  your  master  does  n't 
want  you  for  a  minute,  step  across  to  Mr.  Brown's 
and  tell  him  to  send  me  three  cocktails." 

"Yas,  suh,"  responded  Jerry,  hesitating.  The 
general  had  said  nothing  about  paying. 

"  And  tell  him,  Jerry,  to  charge  them.  I  'm  short 
of  change  to-day." 

"Yas,  suh;  yas,  suh,"  replied  Jerry,  as  he  backed 
out  of  the  presence,  adding,  when  he  had  reached 
the  hall :  "  Dere  ain'  no  change  fer  Jerry  dis  time, 
sho' :  I'll  jes'  make  dat/o'  cocktails,  an'  de  gin'l  won't 
never  know  de  diffe'nce.  I  ain'  gwine  'cross  de  road 
fer  nothin',  not  ef  I  knows  it." 

Half  an  hour  later,  the  conspirators  dispersed. 
They  had  fixed  the  hour  of  the  proposed  revolution, 
the  course  to  be  pursued,  the  results  to  be  obtained  ; 
but  in  stating  their  equation  they  had  overlooked  one 
factor,  —  God,  or  Fate,  or  whatever  one  may  choose 
to  call  the  Power  that  holds  the  destmies  of  man  in 
the  hollow  of  his  hand. 


XXX 

THE   MISSING   PAPERS 

Mrs.  Carteret  was  very  mucli  disturbed.  It  was 
supposed  that  the  shock  of  her  aunt's  death  had  af- 
fected her  health,  for  since  that  event  she  had  fallen 
into  a  nervous  condition  which  gave  the  major  grave 
concern.  Much  to  the  general  surprise,  Mrs.  Ochil- 
tree had  left  no  will,  and  no  property  of  any  consid- 
erable value  except  her  homestead,  which  descended 
to  Mrs.  Carteret  as  the  natural  heir.  Whatever  she 
may  have  had  on  hand  in  the  way  of  ready  money 
had  undoubtedly  been  abstracted  from  the  cedar 
chest  by  the  midnight  marauder,  to  whose  visit  her 
death  was  immediately  due.  Her  niece's  grief  was 
held  to  mark  a  deep-seated  affection  for  the  grim  old 
woman  who  had  reared  her. 

Mrs.  Carteret's  present  state  of  mind,  of  which  her 
nervousness  was  a  sufficiently  accurate  reflection,  did 
in  truth  date  from  her  aunt's  death,  and  also  in  part 
from  the  time  of  the  conversation  with  Mrs.  Ochil- 
tree, one  afternoon,  during  and  after  the  drive  past 
Miller's  new  hospital.  Mrs.  Ochiltree  had  grown 
steadily  more  and  more  childish  after  that  time,  and 
her  niece  had  never  succeeded  in  making  her  pick  up 
the  thread  of  thought  where  it  had  been  dropped. 
At  any  rate,  Mrs.  Ochiltree  had  made  no  further  dis- 
closure upon  the  subject. 

An  examination,  not  long  after  her  aunt's  death, 


THE  MISSING  PAPERS  255 

of  the  pa^Ders  found  near  the  cedar  chest  on  the 
morning  after  the  murder  had  contributed  to  Mrs. 
Carteret's  enlightenment,  but  had  not  promoted  her 
peace  of  mind. 

When  Mrs.  Carteret  reached  home,  after  her  hur- 
ried exploration  of  the  cedar  chest,  she  thrust  into  a 
bureau  drawer  the  envelope  she  had  found.  '  So  fully 
was  her  mind  occupied,  for  several  days,  with  the 
funeral,  and  with  the  excitement  attending  the  arrest 
of  Sandy  Campbell,  that  she  deferred  the  examina- 
tion of  the  contents  of  the  envelope  until  near  the  end 
of  the  week. 

One  morning,  while  alone  in  her  chamber,  she  drew 
the  envelope  from  the  drawer,  and  was  holding  it  in 
her  hand,  hesitating  as  to  whether  or  not  she  should 
open  it,  when  the  baby  in  the  next  room  began  to  cry. 

The  child's  cry  seemed  like  a  warning,  and  yielding 
to  a  vague  uneasiness,  she  put  the  paper  back. 

"  Phil,"  she  said  to  her  husband  at  luncheon, 
"  Aunt  Polly  said  some  strange  things  to  me  one  day 
before  she  died,  —  I  don't  know  whether  she  was 
quite  in  her  right  mind  or  not ;  but  suppose  that  my 
father  had  left  a  will  by  which  it  was  provided  that 
half  his  property  should  go  to  that  woman  and  her 
child  ?  " 

"  It  would  never  have  gone  by  such  a  will,"  replied 
the  major  easily.  "  Your  Aunt  Polly  was  in  her 
dotage,  and  merely  dreaming.  Your  father  would 
never  have  been  such  a  fool ;  but  even  if  he  had,  no 
such  will  could  have  stood  the  test  of  the  courts.  It 
would  clearly  have  been  due  to  the  improper  influence 
of  a  designing  woman." 

"  So  that  legally,  as  well  as  morally,"  said  Mrs. 
Carteret,  "  the  will  would  have  been  of  no  effect  ?  " 


256  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

"  Not  the  slightest.  A  jury  would  soon  have 
broken  down  the  legal  claim.  As  for  any  moral 
obligation,  there  would  have  been  nothing  moral 
about  the  affair.  The  only  possible  consideration  for 
such  a  gift  was  an  immoral  one.  I  don't  wish  to 
speak  harshly  of  your  father,  my  dear,  but  his  con- 
duct was  gravely  reprehensible.  The  woman  herself 
had  no  right  or  claim  whatever ;  she  would  have 
been  whipped  and  expelled  from  the  town,  if  justice 
—  blind,  bleeding  justice,  then  prostrate  at  the  feet  of 
slaves  and  aliens  —  could  have  had  her  way  !  " 

"  But  the  child  "  — 

"  The  child  was  in  the  same  category.  Who  was 
she,  to  have  inherited  the  estate  of  your  ancestors, 
of  which,  a  few  years  before,  she  would  herself  have 
formed  a  part  ?  The  child  of  shame,  it  was  hers  to 
pay  the  penalty.  But  the  discussion  is  all  in  the  air, 
Olivia.  Your  father  never  did  and  never  would  have 
left  such  a  will." 

This  conversation  relieved  Mrs.  Carteret's  uneasi- 
ness. Going  to  her  room  shortly  afterwards,  she  took 
the  envelope  from  her  bureau  drawer  and  drew  out  a 
bulky  paper.  The  haunting  fear  that  it  might  be 
such  a  will  as  her  aunt  had  suggested  was  now  re- 
moved ;  for  such  an  instrument,  in  the  light  of  what 
her  husband  had  said  confirming  her  own  intuitions, 
would  be  of  no  valid  effect.  It  might  be  just  as 
well,  she  thought,  to  throw  the  paper  in  the  fire 
without  looking  at  it.  She  wished  to  think  as  well 
as  might  be  of  her  father',  and  she  felt  that  her  re- 
spect for  his  memory  would  not  be  strengthened  by 
the  knowledge  that  he  had  meant  to  leave  his  estate 
away  from  her ;  for  her  aunt's  words  had  been  open 
to  the  construction  that  she  was  to  have  been  left 


THE  MISSING   PAPERS  257 

destitute.  Curiosity  strongly  prompted  her  to  read 
the  paper.  Perhaps  the  will  contained  no  such  pro- 
vision as  she  had  feared,  and  it  might  convey  some 
request  or  direction  which  ought  properly  to  be  com- 
plied with. 

She  had  been  standing  in  front  of  the  bureau  while 
these  thoughts  passed  through  her  mind,  and  now, 
dropping  the  envelope  back  into  the  drawer  mechani- 
cally, she  unfolded  the  document.  It  was  written  on 
legal  paper,  in  her  father's  own  hand. 

Mrs.  Carteret  was  not  familiar  with  legal  verbi- 
age, and  there  were  several  expressions  of  which  she 
did  not  perhaps  appreciate  the  full  effect ;  but  a  very 
hasty  glance  enabled  her  to  ascertain  the  purport  of 
the  paper.  It  was  a  will,  by  which,  in  one  item,  her 
father  devised  to  his  daughter  Janet,  the  child  of  the 
woman  known  as  Julia  Brown,  the  sum  of  ten  thou- 
sand dollars,  and  a  certain  plantation  or  tract  of  land 
a  short  distance  from  the  town  of  Wellington.  The 
rest  and  residue  of  his  estate,  after  deducting  all 
legal  charges  and  expenses,  was  bequeathed  to  his 
beloved  daughter,  Olivia  Merkell. 

Mrs.  Carteret  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief.  Her  father 
had  not  j^referred  another  to  her,  but  had  left  to  his 
lawful  daughter  the  bulk  of  his  estate.  She  felt  at 
the  same  time  a  growing  indignation  at  the  thought 
that  that  woman  should  so  have  wrought  upon  her 
father's  weakness  as  to  induce  him  to  think  of  leaving^ 
so  much  valuable  property  to  her  bastard,  —  property 
which  by  right  should  go,  and  now  would  go,  to  her 
own  son,  to  whom  by  every  rule  of  law  and  decency 
it  ought  to  descend. 

A  fire  was  burning  in  the  next  room,  on  account  of 
the  baby,  —  there  had  been  a  light  frost  the  night 


258  THE  MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

before,  and  the  air  was  somewhat  chilly.  For  the 
moment  the  room  was  empty.  Mrs.  Carteret  came 
out  from  her  chamber  and  threw  the  offending  paper 
into  the  fire,  and  watched  it  slowly  burn.  When  it 
had  been  consumed,  the  carbon  residue  of  one  sheet 
still  retained  its  form,  and  she  could  read  the  words 
on  the  charred  portion.  A  sentence,  which  had 
escaped  her  eye  in  her  rapid  reading,  stood  out  in 
ghostly  black  upon  the  gray  background  :  — 

"  All  the  rest  and  residue  of  my  estate  I  devise  and 
bequeath  to  my  daughter  Olivia  Merkell,  the  child 
of  my  beloved  first  wife." 

Mrs.  Carteret  had  not  before  observed  the  word 
"first."  Instinctively  she  stretched  toward  the  fire 
the  poker  which  she  held  in  her  hand,  and  at  its  touch 
the  shadowy  remnant  fell  to  pieces,  and  nothing  but 
ashes  remained  upon  the  hearth. 

Not  until  the  next  morning  did  she  think  again  of 
the  envelope  which  had  contained  the  paper  she  had 
burned.  Opening  the  drawer  where  it  lay,  the  oblong 
blue  envelope  confronted  her.  The  sight  of  it  was 
distasteful.  The  indorsed  side  lay  uppermost,  and 
the  words  seemed  like  a  mute  reproach :  — 

"  The  Last  Will  and  Testament  of  Samuel  Mer- 
keU." 

Snatching  up  the  envelope,  she  glanced  into  it 
mechanically  as  she  moved  toward  the  next  room,  and 
perceived  a  thin  folded  paper  which  had  heretofore 
escaped  her  notice.  When  opened,  it  proved  to  be  a 
certificate  of  marriage,  in  due  form,  between  Samuel 
Merkell  and  Julia  Brown.  It  was  dated  from  a 
county  in  South  Carolina,  about  two  years  before  her 
father's  death. 

For  a  moment  Mrs.  Carteret  stood  gazing  blankly 


THE  MISSING  PAPERS  259 

at  this  faded  slip  of  paper.  Her  father  had  married 
this  woman  !  —  at  least  he  had  gone  through  the  form 
of  marriage  with  her,  for  to  him  it  had  surely  been 
no  more  than  an  empty  formality.  The  marriage  of 
white  and  colored  persons  was  forbidden  by  law. 
Only  recently  she  had  read  of  a  case  where  both  the 
parties  to  such  a  crime,  a  colored  man  and  a  white 
woman,  had  been  sentenced  to  long  terms  in  the  peni- 
tentiary. She  even  recalled  the  circumstances.  The 
couple  had  been  living  together  unlawfull}^ — they 
were  very  low  people,  whose  private  lives  were  be- 
neath the  public  notice,  —  but  influenced  by  a  religious 
movement  pervading  the  community,  had  sought,  they 
said  at  the  trial,  to  secure  the  blessing  of  God  upon 
their  union.  The  higher  law,  which  imperiously  de- 
manded that  the  purity  and  prestige  of  the  white 
race  be  preserved  at  any  cost,  had  intervened  at  this 
point. 

Mechanically  she  moved  toward  the  fireplace,  so 
dazed  by  this  discovery  as  to  be  scarcely  conscious  of 
her  own  actions.  She  surely  had  not  formed  any  defi- 
nite intention  of  destroying  this  piece  of  paper  when 
her  fingers  relaxed  unconsciously  and  let  go  their  hold 
upon  it.  The  draught  swept  it  toward  the  fireplace. 
Ere  scarcely  touching  the  flames  it  caught,  blazed 
fiercely,  and  shot  upward  with  the  current  of  air.  A 
moment  later  the  record  of  poor  Julia's  marriage  was 
scattered  to  the  four  winds  of  heaven,  as  her  poor 
body  had  long  since  mingled  with  the  dust  of  earth. 

The  letter  remained  unread.  In  her  agitation  at 
the  discovery  of  the  marriage  certificate,  Olivia  had 
almost  forgotten  the  existence  of  the  letter.  It  was 
addressed  to  "John  Delamere,  Esq.,  as  Executor  of 
my  Last  Will  and  Testament,"  while  the  lower  left- 


i 


260  THE   MARROW   OF   TRADITION 

hand  corner  bore  the   direction  :    "  To  be  delivered 
only  after  my  death,  with  seal  unbroken." 

The  seal  was  broken  already;  Mr.  Delamere  was 
dead ;  the  letter  could  never  be  delivered.  Mrs.  Car- 
teret unfolded  it  and  read  :  — 

My  Deak  Delamere,  —  I  have  taken  the  liberty 
of  naming  you  as  executor  of  my  last  will,  because 
you  are  my  friend,  and  the  only  man  of  my  acquaint- 
ance whom  I  feel  that  I  can  trust  to  carry  out  my 
wishes,  appreciate  my  motives,  and  preserve  the 
silence  I  desire. 

I  have,  first,  a  confession  to  make.  Inclosed  in 
this  letter  you  will  find  a  certificate  of  marriage  be- 
tween my  child  Janet's  mother  and  myself.  While  I 
have  never  exactly  repented  of  this  marriage,  I  have 
never  had  the  courage  to  acknowledge  it  openly.  If 
I  had  not  married  Julia,  I  fear  Polly  Ochiltree  would 
have  married  me  by  main  force,  —  as  she  would 
marry  you  or  any  other  gentleman  unfortunate  enough 
to  fall  in  the  way  of  this  twice-widowed  man-hunter. 
When  my  wife  died,  three  years  ago,  her  sister  Polly 
offered  to  keep  house  for  me  and  the  child.  I  would 
sooner  have  had  the  devil  in  the  house,  and  yet  I  trem- 
bled with  alarm,  —  there  seemed  no  way  of  escape, 
—  it  was  so  clearly  and  obviously  the  proper  thing. 

But  she  herself  gave  me  my  opportunity.  I  was 
on  the  point  of  consenting,  when  she  demanded,  as  a 
condition  of  her  coming,  that  I  discharge  Julia,  my 
late  wife's  maid.  She  was  laboring  under  a  misappre- 
hension in  regard  to  the  girl,  but  I  grasped  at  the 
straw,  and  did  evervthino"  to  foster  her  delusion.  I 
declared  solemnly  that  nothing  under  heaven  would 
induce  me  to  part  with  Julia.     The  controversy  re- 


THE  MISSING   PAPERS  261 

suited  in  my  permitting  Polly  to  take  the  child,  while 
I  retained  the  maid. 

Before  Polly  put  this  idea  into  my  head,  I  had 
scarcely  looked  at  Julia,  but  this  outbreak  turned  my 
attention  toward  her.  She  was  a  handsome  girl,  and, 
as  I  soon  found  out,  a  good  girl.  My  wife,  who  raised 
her,  was  a  Christian  woman,  and  had  taught  her 
modesty  and  virtue.  She  was  free.  The  air  was  full 
of  liberty,  and  equal  rights,  and  all  the  abolition  clap- 
trap, and  she  made  marriage  a  condition  of  her  re- 
maining longer  in  the  house.  In  a  moment  of  weak- 
ness I  took  her  away  to  a  place  where  we  were  not 
known,  and  married  her.  If  she  had  left  me,  I  should 
have  fallen  a  victim  to  Polly  Ochiltree,  —  to  which 
any  fate  was  preferable. 

And  then,  old  friend,  my  weakness  kept  to  the 
fore.  I  was  ashamed  of  this  marriage,  and  my  new 
wife  saw  it.  Moreover,  she  loved  me,  —  too  well, 
indeed,  to  wish  to  make  me  unhappy.  The  ceremony 
had  satisfied  her  conscience,  had  set  her  right,  she 
said,  with  God ;  for  the  opinions  of  men  she  did  not 
care,  since  I  loved  her,  —  she  only  wanted  to  compen- 
sate me,  as  best  she  could,  for  the  great  honor  I  had 
done  my  handmaiden,  —  for  she  had  read  her  Bible, 
and  I  was  the  Abraham  to  her  Hagar,  compared 
with  whom  she  considered  herself  at  a  great  advan- 
tage. It  was  her  own  projDosition  that  nothing  be  said 
of  this  marriage.  If  any  shame  should  fall  on  her, 
it  would  fall  lightly,  for  it  would  be  undeserved. 
When  the  child  came,  she  still  kept  silence.  No  one, 
she  argued,  could  blame  an  innocent  child  for  the 
accident  of  birth,  and  in  the  sight  of  God  this  child 
had  every  right  to  exist ;  while  among  her  own  peo- 
ple illegitimacy  would  involve  but  little  stigma. 


262  THE  MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

I  need  not  say  that  I  was  easily  persuaded  to 
accept  this  sacrifice ;  but  touched  by  her  fidelity,  I 
swore  to  provide  handsomely  for  them  both.  This  I 
have  tried  to  do  by  the  will  of  which  I  ask  you  to 
act  as  executor.  Had  I  left  the  child  more,  it  might 
serve  as  a  ground  for  attacking  the  will ;  my  acknow- 
ledgment of  the  tie  of  blood  is  sufficient  to  justify  a 
reasonable  bequest. 

I  have  taken  this  course  for  the  sake  of  my 
daughter  Olivia,  who  is  dear  to  me,  and  whom  I 
would  not  wish  to  make  ashamed ;  and  in  deference 
to  public  opinion,  which  it  is  not  easy  to  defy.  If, 
after  my  death,  Julia  should  choose  to  make  our  se- 
cret known,  I  shall  of  course  be  beyond  the  reach  of 
hard  words  ;  but  loyalty  to  my  memory  will  probably 
keep  her  silent.  A  strong  man  would  long  since  have 
acknowledgfed  her  before  the  world  and  taken  the  con- 
sequences  ;  but,  alas !  I  am  only  myself,  and  the 
atmosphere  I  live  in  does  not  encourage  moral  hero- 
ism. I  should  like  to  be  different,  but  it  is  God  who 
hath  made  us,  and  not  we  ourselves  ! 

Nevertheless,  old  friend,  I  will  ask  of  you  one 
favor.  If  in  the  future  this  child  of  Julia's  and  of 
mine  should  grow  to  womanhood  ;  if  she  should  prove 
to  have  her  mother's  gentleness  and  love  of  virtue  ;  if, 
in  the  new  era  which  is  opening  up  for  her  mother's 
race,  to  which,  unfortunately,  she  must  belong,  she 
should  become,  in  time,  an  educated  woman  ;  and  if 
the  time  should  ever  come  when,  by  virtue  of  her 
education  or  the  development  of  her  people,  it  would 
be  to  her  a  source  of  shame  or  unhappiness  that  she 
was  an  illegitimate  child,  —  if  you  are  still  alive,  old 
friend,  and  have  the  means  of  knowing  or  divining 
this  thing,  go  to  her  and  tell  her,  for  me,  that  she  is 


THE  MISSING  PAPERS  263 

my  lawful  child,  and  ask  her  to  forgive  her  father's 
weakness. 

When  this  letter  comes  to  you,  I  shall  have  passed 
to  —  the  Beyond ;  but  I  am  confident  that  j^ou  wall 
accept  this  trust,  for  which  I  thank  you  now,  in  ad- 
vance, most  heartily. 

The  letter  was  signed  with  her  father's  name,  the 
same  signature  which  had  been  attached  to  the  will. 

Having  firmly  convinced  herself  of  the  illegality  of 
the  papers,  and  of  her  own  right  to  destroy  them,  Mrs. 
Carteret  ought  to  have  felt  relieved  that  she  had  thus 
removed  all  traces  of  her  dead  father's  folly.  True, 
the  other  daughter  remained,  —  she  had  seen  her  on 
the  street  only  the  day  before.  The  sight  of  this  per- 
son she  had  always  found  offensive,  and  now,  she  felt, 
in  view  of  what  she  had  just  learned,  it  must  be  even 
more  so.  Never,  while  this  woman  lived  in  the  town, 
would  she  be  able  to  throw  the  veil  of  foroetfulness 
over  this  blot  upon  her  father's  memory. 

As  the  day  wore  on,  Mrs.  Carteret  grew  still  less  at 
ease.  To  herself,  marriage  was  a  serious  thing,  -r-  to 
a  riffht-thinking;  woman  the  most  serious  concern  of 
life.  ,'  A  marriage  certificate,  rightfully  procured,  was 
scarcelv  less  solemn,  so  far  as  it  went,  than  the  Bible 
itself.  Her  own  she  cherished  as  the  apple  of  her  eye. 
It  was  the  evidence  of  her  wifehood,  the  seal  of  her 
child's  legitimacy,  her  patent  of  nobility,  —  the  token 
of  her  own  and  her  child's  claim  to  social  place  and 
consideration.  She  had  burned  this  pretended  mar- 
riao'e  certificate  because  it  meant  nothino*.  Neverthe- 
less,  she  could  not  ignore  the  knowledge  of  another 
such  marriage,  of  which  every  one  in  the  town  knew, 
—  a  celebrated  case,  indeed,  where  a  white  man,  of  a 


264  THE   MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

family  quite  as  prominent  as  her  father's,  had  mar- 
ried a  colored  woman  during  the  military  occupation 
of  the  state  just  after  the  civil  war.  The  legality  of 
the  marriage  had  never  been  questioned.  It  had  been 
fully  consummated  by  twenty  years  of  subsequent  co- 
habitation. No  amount  of  social  persecution  had  ever 
shaken  the  position  of  the  husband.  With  an  iron 
will  he  had  stayed  on  in  the  town,  a  living  protest 
against  the  established  customs  of  the  South,  so  rudely 
interrupted  for  a  few  short  years ;  and,  though  his 
children  were  negroes,  though  he  had  never  appeared 
in  public  with  his  wife,  no  one  had  ever  questioned 
the  validity  of  his  marriage  or  the  legitimacy  of  his 
offspring. 

The  marriage  certificate  which  Mrs.  Carteret  had 
burned  dated  from  the  period  of  the  military  occupa- 
tion. Hence  Mrs.  Carteret,  who  was  a  good  woman, 
and  would  not  have  done  a  dishonest  thing,  felt  decid- 
edly uncomfortable.  She  had  destroyed  the  marriage 
certificate,  but  its  ghost  still  haunted  her. 

Major  Carteret,  having  just  eaten  a  good  dinner, 
was  in  a  very  agreeable  humor  when,  that  same  even- 
ing, his  wife  brought  up  again  the  subject  of  their 
previous  discussion. 

"  Phil,"  she  asked,  "  Aunt  Polly  told  me  that  once, 
long  before  my  father  died,  when  she  went  to  remon- 
strate with  him  for  keeping  that  woman  in  the  house, 
he  threatened  to  marry  Julia  if  Aunt  Polly  ever  said 
another  word  to  him  about  the  matter.  Suppose  he 
had  married  her,  and  had  then  left  a  will,  —  would  the 
marriage  have  made  any  difference,  so  far  as  the  will 
was  concerned  ?  " 

Major  Carteret  laughed.  "  Your  Aunt  Polly,"  he 
said,  "  was  a  remarkable  woman,  with  a  wonderful 


THE   MISSING   PAPERS  265 

imagination,  which  seems  to  have  grown  more  vivid 
as  her  memory  and  judgment  weakened.  Why  should 
your  father  marry  his  negro  housemaid  ?  Mr.  Merkell 
was  never  rated  as  a  fool,  —  he  had  one  of  the  clearest 
heads  in  Wellington.  I  saw  him  only  a  day  or  two 
before  he  died,  and  I  could  swear  before  any  court  in 
Christendom  that  he  was  of  sound  mind  and  memory 
to  the  last.  These  notions  of  your  aunt  were  mere 
delusions.  Your  father  was  never  capable  of  such  a 
folly." 

"  Of  course  I  am  only  supposing  -a  case,"  returned 
Olivia.  "  Imagining  such  a  case,  just  for  the  argu- 
ment, would  the  marriage  have  been  legal  ?  " 

"  That  would  depend.  If  he  had  married  her  dur- 
ing the  military  occupation,  or  over  in  South  Caro- 
lina, the  marriage  would  have  been  legally  valid, 
though  morally  and  socially  outrageous." 

"  And  if  he  had  died  afterwards,  leaving  a  will  ?  " 

"  The  will  would  have  controlled  the  disposition  of 
his  estate,  in  all  probability." 

"  Suppose  he  had  left  no  will  ?  " 

"  You  are  getting  the  matter  down  pretty  fine,  my 
dear  !  The  woman  would  have  taken  one  third  of  the 
real  estate  for  life,  and  could  have  lived  in  the  home- 
stead until  she  died.  She  would  also  have  had  half 
the  other  property,  —  the  money  and  goods  and  furni- 
ture, everything  except  the  land,  —  and  the  negro 
child  would  have  shared  with  you  the  balance  of  the 
estate.  That,  I  believe,  is  according  to  the  law  of 
descent  and  distribution." 

Mrs.  Carteret  lapsed  into  a  troubled  silence.  Her 
father  had  married  the  woman.  In  her  heart  she  had 
no  doubt  of  the  validity  of  the  marriage,  so  far  as  the 
law  was  concerned  ;  if  one  marriage  of  such  a  kind 


266  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

would  stand,  another  contracted  under  similar  condi- 
tions was  equally  as  good.  If  the  marriage  had  been 
valid,  Julia's  child  had  been  legitimate.  The  will  she 
had  burned  gave  this  sister  of  hers  —  she  shuddered 
at  the  word  — but  a  small  part  of  the  estate.  Under 
the  law,  which  intervened  now  that  there  was  no  will, 
the  property  should  have  been  equally  divided.  If  the 
woman  had  been  white,  —  but  the  woman  had  not 
been  white,  and  the  same  rule  of  moral  conduct  did 
not,  could  not,  in  the  very  nature  of  things,  apply, 
as  between  white  people  !  For,  if  this  were  not  so, 
slavery  had  been,  not  merely  an  economic  mistake, 
but  a  great  crime  against  humanity.  If  it  had  been 
such  a  crime,  as  for  a  moment  she  dimly  perceived  it 
might  have  been,  then  through  the  long  centuries 
there  had  been  piled  up  a  catalogue  of  wrong  and  out- 
rage which,  if  the  law  of  compensation  be  a  law  of 
nature,  must  some  time,  somewhere,  in  some  way,  be 
atoned  for.  She  herself  had  not  escaped  the  penalty, 
of  which,  she  realized,  this  burden  placed  upon  her 
conscience  was  but  another  installment. 

If  she  should  make  known  the  facts  she  had  learned, 
it  would  mean  what? — a  division  of  her  father's  estate, 
a  recognition  of  the  legality  of  her  father's  relations 
with  Julia.  Such  a  stain  upon  her  father's  memory 
would  be  infinitely  worse  than  if  he  had  not  married 
her.  To  have  lived  with  her  without  marriage  was  a 
social  misdemeanor,  at  which  society  in  the  old  days 
had  winked,  or  at  most  had  frowned.  To  have  married 
her  was  to  have  committed  the  unpardonable  social 
sin.  Such  a  scandal  Mrs.  Carteret  could  not  have  en- 
dured. Should  she  seek  to  make  restitution,  it  would 
necessarily  involve  the  disclosure  of  at  least  some  of 
the  facts.     Had  she  not  destroyed  the  will,  she  might 


THE  MISSING   PAPERS  267 

have  compromised  with  her  conscience  by  producing 
it  and  acting  upon  its  terms,  which  had  been  so 
stated  as  not  to  disclose  the  marria^'e.  This  was  now 
rendered  impossible  by  her  own  impulsive  act ;  she 
could  not  mention  the  will  at  all,  without  admitting 
that  she  had  destroyed  it. 

Mrs.  Carteret  found  herself  in  what  might  be  called, 
vulgarly,  a  moral  "  pocket."  She  could,  of  course, 
remain  silent.  Mrs.  Carteret  was  a  good  woman,  ac- 
cording to  her  lights,  with  a  cultivated  conscience,  to 
which  she  had  always  looked  as  her  mentor  and  infal- 
lible guide. 

Hence  Mrs.  Carteret,  after  this  painful  discovery, 
remained  for  a  long  time  ill  at  ease,  —  so  disturbed, 
indeed,  that  her  mind  reacted  upon  her  nerves,  which 
had  never  been  strong  ;  and  her  nervousness  affected 
her  strength,  wdiich  had  never  been  great,  until  Car- 
teret, whose  love  for  her  had  been  deepened  and 
strengthened  by  the  advent  of  his  son,  became  alarmed 
for  her  health,  and  spoke  very  seriously  to  Dr.  Price 
concerning  it. 


XXXI 

THE   SHADOW   OF  A   DREAIM 

Mrs.  Carteret  awoke,  with  a  start,  from  a,  troubled 
dream.  She  had  been  sailmg  across  a  sunlit  sea,  in  a 
beautiful  boat,  her  child  lying  on  a  bright-colored 
cushion  at  her  feet.  Overhead  the  swelling  sail  served 
as  an  awning  to  keep  off  the  sun's  rays,  which  far 
ahead  were  reflected  with  dazzling  brilliancy  from  the 
shores  of  a  golden  island.  Her  son,  she  dreamed, 
was  a  fairy  prince,  and  yonder  lay  his  kingdom,  to 
which  he  was  being  borne,  lying  there  at  her  feet,  in 
this  beautiful  boat,  across  the  sunlit  sea. 

Suddenly  and  without  warning  the  sky  was  over- 
cast. A  squall  struck  the  boat  and  tore  away  the  sail. 
In  the  distance  a  huge  billow  —  a  great  white  wall  of 
water  —  came  sweeping  toward  their  frail  craft, 
threatening  it  with  instant  destruction.  She  clasped 
her  child  to  her  bosom,  and  a  moment  later  found 
herself  struggling  in  the  sea,  holding  the  child's  head 
above  the  water.  As  she  floated  there,  as  though  sus- 
tained by  some  unseen  force,  she  saw  in  the  distance  a 
small  boat  approaching  over  the  storm-tossed  waves. 
Straight  toward  her  it  came,  and  she  had  reached  out 
her  hand  to  grasp  its  side,  when  the  rower  looked 
back,  and  she  saw  that  it  was  her  sister.  The  recog- 
nition had  been  mutual.  With  a  sharp  movement  of 
one  oar  the  boat  glided  by,  leaving  her  clutching  at 
the  empty  air.  r 


THE   SHADOW  OF  A  DREAM  269 

She  felt  her  strength  begin  to  fail.  Despairingly 
she  signaled  with  her  disengaged  hand ;  but  the 
rower,  after  one  mute,  reproachful  glance,  rowed  on. 
Mrs.  Carteret's  strength  grew  less  and  less.  The  child 
became  heavy  as  lead.  Herself  floating  in  the  water, 
as  though  it  were  her  native  element,  she  could  no 
longer  support  the  child.     Lower  and  lower  it  sank, 

—  she  was  powerless  to  save  it  or  to  accompany  it, 

—  until,  gasping  wildly  for  breath,  it  threw  up  its 
little  hands  and  sank,  the  cruel  water  gurgling  over 
its  head,  —  when  she  awoke  with  a  start  and  a  chill, 
and  lay  there  trembling  for  several  minutes  before 
she  heard  little  Dodie  in  his  crib,  breathing  heavily. 

She  rose  softly,  went  to  the  crib,  and  changed  the 
child's  position  to  an  easier  one.  He  breathed  more 
freely,  and  she  went  back  to  bed,  but  not  to  sleep. 

She  had  tried  to  put  aside  the  distressing  questions 
raised  by  the  discovery  of  her  father's  will  and  the 
papers  accompanying  it.  Why  should  she  be  burdened 
with  such  a  responsibility,  at  this  late  day,  when  the 
touch  of  time  had  well-nigh  healed  these  old  sores  ? 
Surely,  God  had  put  his  curse  not  alone  upon  the  slave, 
but  upon  the  stealer  of  men  !  With  other  good  people 
she  had  thanked  Him  that  slavery  was  no  more,  and 
that  those  who  once  had  borne  its  burden  upon  their 
consciences  could  stand  erect  and  feel  that  they  them- 
selves were  free.  The  weed  had  been  cut  down,  but 
its  roots  remained,  deeply  imbedded  in  the  soil,  to 
spring  up  and  trouble  a  new  generation.  Upon  her 
weak 'shoulders  was  placed  the  burden  of  her  father's 
weakness,  her  father's  folly.  It  was  left  to  her  to 
acknowledge  or  not  this  shameful  marriage  and  her 
sister's  rights  in  their  father's  estate. 

Balancing  one   consideration    against  another,  she 


270  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

had  almost  decided  that  she  might  ignore  this  tie.  To 
herself,  Olivia  Merkell,  —  Olivia  Carteret,  —  the 
sti2:ma  of  base  birth  would  have  meant  social  ostra- 
cism,  social  ruin,  the  averted  face,  the  finger  of  pity  or 
of  scorn.  All  the  traditional  weight  of  public  disap- 
proval would  have  fallen  upon  her  as  the  unhappy 
fruit  of  an  unblessed  union.  To  this  other  woman 
it  could  have  had  no  such  significance,  —  it  had  been 
the  lot  of  her  race.  To  them,  twenty-five  years  before, 
sexual  sin  had  never  been  imputed  as  more  than  a 
fault.  She  had  lost  nothing  by  her  supposed  illegiti- 
macy ;  she  would  gain  nothing  by  the  acknowledg- 
ment of  her  mother's  marriage. 

On  the  other  hand,  what  would  be  the  effect  of  this 
revelation  upon  Mrs.  Carteret  herself?  To  have  it 
known  that  her  father  had  married  a  negress  would 
only  be  less  dreadful  than  to  have  it  appear  that  he 
had  committed  some  terrible  crime.  It  was  a  crime 
now,  by  the  laws  of  every  Southern  State,  for  white 
and  colored  persons  to  intermarry.  She  shuddered 
before  the  possibility  that  at  some  time  in  the  future 
some  person,  none  too  well  informed,  might  learn  that 
her  father  had  married  a  colored  woman,  and  might 
assume  that  she,  Olivia  Carteret,  or  her  child,  had 
sprung  from  this  shocking  mesalliance^  —  a  fate  to 
which  she  would  willingly  have  preferred  death.  No, 
this  marriage  must  never  be  made  known ;  the  secret 
should  remain  buried  forever  in  her  own  heart ! 

But  there  still  remained  the  question  of  her  father's 
property  and  her  father's  will.  This  woman  was  her 
father's  child,  —  of  that  there  could  be  no  doubt,  it 
was  written  in  her  features  no  less  than  in  her  father's 
will.  As  his  lawful  child,  —  of  which,  alas !  there 
could  also  be  no  question,  —  she  was  entitled  by  law 


THE   SHADOW  OF  A  DREAJVI  271 

to  half  his  estate.  Mrs.  Carteret's  problem  had  sunk 
from  the  realm  of  sentiment  to  that  of  material  things, 
which,  curiously  enough,  she  found  much  more  diffi- 
cult. For,  while  the  negro,  by  the  traditions  of  her 
people,  was  barred  from  the  world  of  sentiment,  his 
rights  of  property  were  recognized.  The  question  had 
become,  with  Mrs.  Carteret,  a  question  of  meum  and 
tuum.  Had  the  girl  Janet  been  poor,  ignorant,  or  de- 
graded, as  might  well  have  been  her  fate,  Mrs.  Car- 
teret mio'ht  have  felt  a  vicarious  remorse  for  her  aunt's 
suppression  of  the  papers  ;  but  fate  had  compensated 
Janet  for  the  loss ;  she  had  been  educated,  she  had 
married  well ;  she  had  not  suffered  for  lack  of  the 
money  of  which  she  had  been  defrauded,  and  did  not 
need  it  now.  She  had  a  child,  it  is  true,  but  this 
child's  career  would  be  so  circumscribed  by  the  acci- 
dent of  color  that  too  much  wealth  would  only  be  a 
source  of  unhappiness ;  to  her  own  child,  on  the  con- 
trary, it  would  open  every  door  of  life. 

It  would  be  too  lengthy  a  task  to  follow  the  mind 
and  conscience  of  this  much-tried  lady  in  their  intri- 
cate workings  upon  this  difficult  problem ;  for  she  had 
a  mind  as  logical  as  any  woman's,  and  a  conscience 
which  she  wished  to  keep  void  of  offense.  She  had  to 
confront  a  situation  involving  the  element  of  race, 
upon  which  the  moral  standards  of  her  people  were 
hopelessly  confused.  Mrs.  Carteret  reached  the  con- 
clusion, ere  daylight  dawned,  that  she  would  be  si- 
lent upon  the  subject  of  her  father's  second  marriage. 
Neither  party  had  wished  it  known,  —  neither  Julia 
nor  her  father,  —  and  she  would  respect  her  father's 
wishes.  To  act  otherwise  would  be  to  defeat  his  will, 
to  make  known  what  he  had  carefully  concealed,  and 
to  give  Janet  a  claim  of  title  to  one  half  her  father's 


272  THE   MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

estate,  while  he  had  only  meant  her  to  have  the  ten 
thousand  dollars  named  in  the  will. 

By  the  same  reasoning,  she  must  carry  out  her  fa- 
ther's will  in  respect  to  this  bequest.  Here  there  was 
another  difficulty.  The  mining  investment  into  which 
they  had  entered  shortly  after  the  birth  of  little  Dodie 
had  tied  up  so  much  of  her  property  that  it  would  have 
been  difficult  to  procure  ten  thousand  dollars  immedi- 
ately ;  while  a  demand  for  half  the  property  at  once 
would  mean  bankruptcy  and  ruin.  Moreover,  upon 
what  ground  could  she  offer  her  sister  any  sum  of 
money  whatever  ?  So  sudden  a  change  of  heart,  after 
so  many  years  of  silence,  would  raise  the  presump- 
tion of  some  right  on  the  part  of  Janet  in  her  father's 
estate.  Suspicion  once  aroused,  it  might  be  possible 
to  trace  this  hidden  marriage,  and  establish  it  by 
legal  proof.  The  marriage  once  verified,  the  claim 
for  half  the  estate  could  not  be  denied.  She  could 
not  plead  her  father's  will  to  the  contrary,  for  this 
would  be  to  acknowledge  the  suppression  of  the  will, 
in  itself  a  criminal  act. 

There  was,  however,  a  way  of  escape.  This  hospital 
which  had  recently  been  opened  was  the  personal 
property  of  her  sister's  husband.  Some  time  in  the 
future,  when  their  investments  matured,  she  would 
present  to  the  hospital  a  sum  of  money  equal  to  the 
amount  her  father  had  meant  his  colored  daughter  to 
have.  Thus  indirectly  both  her  father's  will  and  her 
own  conscience  would  be  satisfied. 

Mrs.  Carteret  had  reached  this  comfortable  con- 
clusion, and  was  falling  asleep,  when  her  attention 
was  again  drawn  by  her  child's  breathing.  She  took 
it  in  her  own  arms  and  soon  fell  asleep. 

*'  By  the  way,  Olivia,"  said  the  major,  when  leav- 


THE   SHADOW  OF  A  DREAM  273 

ing  the  house  next  morning  for  the  office,  "  if  you 
have  any  business  down  town  to-day,  transact  it  this 
forenoon.  Under  no  circumstances  must  you  or  Clara 
or  the  baby  leave  the  house  after  midday." 

"  Why,  what 's  the  matter,  Phil  ?  " 

"  Nothing  to  alarm  you,  except  that  there  may  be  a 
little  political  demonstration  which  may  render  the 
streets  unsafe.  You  are  not  to  say  anything  about  it 
where  the  servants  might  hear." 

"  Will  there  be  any  danger  for  you,  Phil  ? "  she 
demanded  with  alarm. 

"Not  the  slightest,  Olivia  dear.  No  one  will  be 
harmed ;  but  it  is  best  for  ladies  and  children  to  stay 
indoors." 

Mrs.  Carteret's  nerves  were  still  more  or  less  un- 
strung from  her  mental  struggles  of  the  night,  and 
the  memory  of  her  dream  came  to  her  like  a  dim  fore- 
boding of  misfortune.  As  though  in  sympathy  with 
its  mother's  feelings,  the  baby  did  not  seem  as  well 
as  usual.  The  new  nurse  was  by  no  means  an  ideal 
nurse,  —  Mammy  Jane  understood  the  child  much 
better.  If  there  should  be  any  trouble  with  the 
negroes,  toward  which  her  husband's  remark  seemed 
to  point,  —  she  knew  the  general  political  situation, 
though  not  informed  in  regard  to  her  husband's  plans, 
—  she  would  like  to  have  Mammy  Jane  near  her, 
where  the  old  nurse  might  be  protected  from  danger 
or  alarm. 

With  this  end  in  view  she  dispatched  the  nurse, 
shortly  after  breakfast,  to  Mammy  Jane's  house  in  the 
negro  settlement  on  the  other  side  of  the  town,  with 
a  message  asking  the  old  woman  to  come  immediately 
to  Mrs.  Carteret's.  Unfortunately,  Mammy  Jane  had 
gone  to  visit  a  sick  woman  in  the  country,  and  was 
not  expected  to  return  for  several  hours. 


XXXII 

THE    STORM   BREAKS 

The  Wellington  riot  began  at  three  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon  of  a  day  as  fair  as  was  ever  selected  for  a 
deed  of  darkness.  The  sky  was  clear,  except  for  a 
few  light  clouds  that  floated,  white  and  feathery,  high 
in  air,  like  distant  islands  in  a  sapphire  sea.  A  salt- 
laden  breeze  from  the  ocean  a  few  miles  away  lent  ^ 
crisp  sparkle  to  the  air. 

At  three  o'clock  sharp  the  streets  were  filled,  as  if 
by  magic,  with  armed  white  men.  The  negroes,  going 
about,  had  noted,  with  nneasy  curiosity,  that  the 
stores  and  places  of  business,  many  of  which  closed 
at  noon,  were  unduly  late  in  opening  for  the  after- 
noon, though  no  one  suspected  the  reason  for  the  delay  ; 
but  at  three  o'clock  every  passing  colored  man  was 
ordered,  by  the  first  white  man  he  met,  to  throw  up 
his  hands.  If  he  complied,  he  was  searched,  more 
or  less  roughly,  for  firearms,  and  then  warned  to  get 
off  the  street.  When  he  met  another  group  of  white 
men  the  scene  was  repeated.  The  man  thus  sum- 
marily held  up  seldom  encountered  more  than  two 
groups  before  disappearing  across  lots  to  his  own 
home  or  some  convenient  hiding-place.  If  he  resisted 
any  demand  of  those  who  halted  him —  But  the 
records  of  the  day  are  historical ;  they  may  be  found 
in  the  newspapers  of  the  following  date,  but  they  are 
more  firmly  engraved  upon  the  hearts  and  memories 


THE   STORM   BREAKS  275 

of  the  people  of  Wellington.  For  many  months  there 
were  nesrro  families  in  the  town  whose  children 
screamed  with  fear  and  ran  to  their  mothers  for  pro- 
tection at  the  mere  sight  of  a  white  man. 

Dr.  Miller  had  received  a  call,  about  one  o'clock, 
to  attend  a  case  at  the  house  of  a  well-to-do  colored 
farmer,  who  lived  some  three  or  four  miles  from  the 
town,  upon  the  very  road,  by  the  way,  along  which 
Miller  had  driven  so  furiously  a  few  weeks  before,  in 
the  few  hours  that  intervened  before  Sandy  Campbell 
would  probably  have  been  burned  at  the  stake.  The 
drive  to  his  patient's  home,  the  necessary  inquiries, 
the  filling  of  the  prescription  from  his  own  medicine- 
case,  which  he  carried  along  with  him,  the  little 
friendly  conversation  about  the  weather  and  the 
crops,  and,  the  farmer  being  an  intelligent  and  think- 
ing man,  the  inevitable  subject  of  the  future  of  their 
race,  —  these,  added  to  the  return  journey,  occupied 
at  least  two  hours  of  Miller's  time. 

As  he  neared  the  town  on  his  way  back,  he  saw 
ahead  of  him  half  a  dozen  men  and  women  approach- 
ing, with  fear  written  in  their  faces,  in  every  degree 
from  apprehension  to  terror.  Women  were  weejDing 
and  children  crying,  and  all  were  going  as  fast  as 
seemingly  lay  in  their  power,  looking  behind  now  and 
then  as  if  pursued  by  some  deadly  enemy.  At  sight 
of  Miller's  buggy  they  made  a  dash  for  cover,  dis- 
appearing, like  a  covey  of  frightened  partridges,  in 
the  underbrush  along  the  road. 

Miller  pulled  up  his  horse  and  looked  after  them 
in  startled  wonder. 

"  What  on  earth  can  be  the  matter  ?  "  he  muttered, 
struck  with  a  vague  feeling  of  alarm.  A  psycholo- 
gist, seeking  to  trace  the  effects  of  slavery  upon  the 


276  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

human  mind,  might  find  in  the  South  many  a  curious 
illustration  of  this  curse,  abiding  long  after  the  actual 
physical  bondage  had  terminated.  In  the  olden  time 
the  white  South  labored  under  the  constant  fear  of 
negro  insurrections.  Knowing  that  they  themselves, 
if  in  the  negroes'  place,  would  have  risen  in  the  effort 
to  throw  off  the  3^oke,  all  their  reiterated  theories  of 
negro  subordination  and  inferiority  could  not  remove 
that  lurking  fear,  founded  upon  the  obscure  con- 
sciousness that  the  slaves  ought  to  have  risen.  Con- 
science, it  has  been  said,  makes  cowards  of  us  all. 
There  was  never,  on  the  continent  of  America,  a 
successfid  slave  revolt,  nor  one  which  lasted  more 
than  a  few  hours,  or  resulted  in  the  loss  of  more  than 
a  few  white  lives  ;  yet  never  was  the  planter  quite  free 
from  the  fear  that  there  might  be  one. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  slave  had  before  his  eyes 
always  the  fear  of  the  master.  There  were  good  men, 
according  to  their  lights,  —  according  to  their  train- 
ing and  environment,  —  among  the  Southern  slave- 
holders, who  treated  their  slaves  kindly,  as  slaves, 
from  principle,  because  they  recognized  the  claims 
of  humanity,  even  under  the  dark  skin  of  a  human 
chattel.  There  was  many  a  one  who  protected  or 
pampered  his  negroes,  as  the  case  might  be,  just  as 
a  man  fondles  his  dog,  —  because  they  were  his  ;  they 
were  a  part  of  his  estate,  an  integral  part  of  the 
entity  of  property  and  person  which  made  up  the 
aristocrat ;  but  with  all  this  kindness,  there  was 
always  present,  in  the  consciousness  of  the  lowest 
slave,  the  knowledge  that  he  was  in  his  master's 
power,  and  that  he  could  make  no  effectual  protest 
against  the  abuse  of  that  authority.  There  was  also 
the  knowledge,  among  those  who  could  think  at  all, 


THE   STORM  BREAKS  277 

that  the  best  of  masters  was  himself  a  slave  to  a  sys- 
tem, which  hampered  his  movements  but  scarcely  less 
than  those  of  his  bondmen. 

When,  therefore,  Miller  saw  these  men  and  women 
scampering  into  the  bushes,  he  divined,  with  this 
slumbering  race  consciousness  which  years  of  culture 
had  not  obliterated,  that  there  was  some  race  trouble 
on  foot.  His  intuition  did  not  long  remain  unsup- 
ported. A  black  head  was  cautiously  protruded  from 
the  shrubbery,  and  a  black  voice  —  if  such  a  descrip- 
tion be  allowable  —  addressed  him  :  — 

"  Is  dat  you,  Doctuh  Miller?  " 

"  Yes.     Who  are  you,  and  what 's  the  trouble  ?  " 

"  What 's  de  trouble,  suh  ?  Why,  all  hell 's  broke 
loose  in  town  yonduh.  De  w'ite  folks  is  riz  'gins'  de 
niggers,  an'  say  dey  're  gwine  ter  kill  eve'y  nigger 
dey  kin  lay  ban's  on." 

Miller's  heart  leaped  to  his  throat,  as  he  thought 
of  his  wife  and  child.  This  story  was  preposterous ; 
it  could  not  be  true,  and  yet  there  must  be  something 
in  it.  He  tried  to  question  his  informant,  but  the 
man  was  so  overcome  with  excitement  and  fear  that 
Miller  saw  clearly  that  he  must  go  farther  for  infor- 
mation. He  had  read  in  the  Morning  Chronicle,  a 
few  days  before,  the  obnoxious  editorial  quoted  from 
the  Afro-American  Banner,  and  had  noted  the  com- 
ment upon  it  by  the  white  editor.  He  had  felt,  as  at 
the  time  of  its  first  publication,  that  the  editorial  was 
ill-advised.  It  could  do  no  good,  and  was  calculated 
to  arouse  the  animosity  of  those  whose  friendship, 
whose  tolerance,  at  least,  was  necessary  and  almost 
indispensable  to  the  colored  people.  They  were  liv- 
ing, at  the  best,  in  a  sort  of  armed  neutrality  with  the 
whites  ;  such  a  publication,  however  serviceable  else- 


278  THE  MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

where,  could  have  no  other  effect  m  Wellington  than 
to  endanger  this  truce  and  defeat  the  hope  of  a  pos- 
sible future  friendship.  The  right  of  free  speech 
entitled  Barber  to  publish  it ;  a  larger  measure  of 
common-sense  would  have  made  him  withhold  it. 
Whether  it  was  the  republication  of  this  article  that 
had  stirred  up  anew  the  sleeping  dogs  of  race  pre- 
judice and  whetted  their  thirst  for  blood,  he  could  not 
yet  tell ;  but  at  any  rate,  there  was  mischief  on  foot. 

"  Fer  God's  sake,  doctuh,  don'  go  no  closeter  ter 
dat  town,"  pleaded  his  informant,  "  er  you  '11  be  killt 
sho'.  Come  on  wid  us,  suh,  an'  tek  keer  er  yo'se'f. 
We  're  gwine  ter  hide  in  de  swamps  till  dis  thing  is 
over ! " 

"  God,  man !  "  exclaimed  Miller,  urging  his  horse 
forward,  "  my  wife  and  child  are  in  the  town !  " 

Fortunately,  he  reflected,  there  were  no  patients 
confined  in  the  hospital,  —  if  there  should  be  anything 
in  this  preposterous  story.  To  one  unfamiliar  with 
Southern  life,  it  might  have  seemed  impossible  that 
these  good  Christian  people,  who  thronged  the 
churches  on  Sunday,  and  wept  over  the  sufferings  of 
the  lowly  Nazarene,  and  sent  missionaries  to  the  hea- 
then, could  be  hungering  and  thirsting  for  the  blood 
of  their  fellow  men ;  but  Miller  cherished  no  such 
delusion.  He  knew  the  history  of  his  country  ;  he 
had  the  threatened  lynching  of  Sandy  Campbell  viv- 
idly in  mind  ;  and  he  was  fully  persuaded  that  to  race 
prejudice,  once  roused,  any  horror  was  possible.  That 
women  or  children  would  be  molested  of  set  purpose 
he  did  not  believe,  but  that  they  might  suffer  by 
accident  was  more  than  likely. 

As  he  neared  the  town,  dashing  forward  at  the  top 
of  his  horse's  speed,  he  heard   his  voice  called  in  a 


THE   STORM   BREAKS  279 

loud  and  agitated  tone,  and,  glancing  around  him,  saw 
a  familiar  form  standing  by  tlie  roadside,  gesticulat- 
ing vehemently. 

He  drew  up  the  horse  with  a  suddenness  that 
threw  the  faithful  and  obedient  animal  back  upon  its 
haunches.  The  colored  lawyer,  Watson,  came  up  to 
the  buggy.  That  he  was  laboring  under  great  and 
unusual  excitement  was  quite  apparent  from  his  pale 
face  and  frightened  air. 

"  What 's  the  matter,  Watson  ?  "  demanded  Miller, 
hoping  now  to  obtain  some  reliable  information. 

"  Matter  !  "  exclaimed  the  other.  "  Everything  's 
the  matter !  The  white  people  are  up  in  arms.  They 
have  disarmed  the  colored  people,  killing  half  a  dozen 
ill  the  process,  and  wounding  as  many  more.  They 
have  forced  the  mayor  and  aldermen  to  resign,  have 
formed  a  provisional  city  government  a  la  franc^aise^ 
and  have  ordered  me  and  half  a  dozen  other  fellows 
to  leave  town  in  forty-eight  hours,  under  pain  of  sud- 
den death.  As  they  seem  to  mean  it,  I  shall  not  stay 
so  long.  Fortunately,  my  wife  and  children  are  away. 
I  knew  you  were  out  here,  however,  and  I  thought  I  'd 
come  out  and  wait  for  you,  so  that  we  might  talk  the 
matter  over.  I  don't  imagine  they  mean  you  any  harm, 
personally,  because  you  tread  on  nobody's  toes ;  but 
vou  're  too  valuable  a  man  for  the  race  to  lose,  so 
I  thought  I  'd  give  you  warning.  I  shall  want  to 
sell  you  my  property,  too,  at  a  bargain.  For  I  'm 
worth  too  much  to  my  family  to  dream  of  eyer^  at- 
tempting to  live  here  again." 

"  Have  you  seen  anything  of  my  wife  and  child  ?  " 
asked  Miller,  intent  upon  the  danger  to  which  they 
might  be  exposed. 

"  No  ;  I  did  n't  go  to  the  house.     I  inquired  at  the 


280  THE  MARROW  OF   TRADITION 

drugstore  and  found  out  where  you  had  gone.  You 
need  n't  fear  for  them,  —  it  is  not  a  war  on  women  and 
children." 

"  War  of  any  kind  is  always  hardest  on  the  women 
and  children,"  returned  Miller ;  "  I  must  hurry  on  and 
see  that  mine  are  safe." 

"  They  '11  not  carry  the  war  so  far  into  Africa  as 
that,"  returned  Watson ;  "  but  I  never  saw  anything 
like  it.  Yesterday  I  had  a  hundred  white  friends  in 
the  town,  or  thought  I  had,  —  men  who  spoke  plea- 
santly to  me  on  the  street,  and  sometimes  gave  me 
their  hands  to  shake.  Not  one  of  them  said  to  me  to- 
day:  '  Watson,  stay  at  home  this  afternoon.'  I  might 
have  been  killed,  like  any  one  of  half  a  dozen  others 
who  have  bit  the  dust,  for  any  word  that  one  of  my 
'  friends  '  had  said  to  warn  me.  When  the  race  cry 
is  started  in  this  neck  of  the  woods,  friendship,  reli- 
gion, humanity,  reason,  all  shrivel  up  like  dry  leaves 
in  a  raging  furnace." 

The  buggy,  into  which  Watson  had  climbed,  was 
meanwhile  rapidly  nearing  the  town. 

"  I  think  I  '11  leave  you  here.  Miller,"  said  Watson, 
as  they  approached  the  outskirts,  "  and  make  my  way 
home  by  a  roundabout  path,  as  I  should  like  to  get 
there  unmolested.  Home  !  —  a  beautiful  word  that, 
is  n't  it,  for  an  exiled  wanderer  ?  It  might  not  be 
well,  either,  for  us  to  be  seen  together.  If  you  put 
the  hood  of  your  buggy  down,  and  sit  well  back  in  the 
shadow,  you  may  be  able  to  reach  home  without  inter- 
ruption ;  but  avoid  the  main  streets.  I  '11  see  you 
again  this  evening,  if  we  're  both  alive,  and  I  can 
reach  you ;  for  my  time  is  short.  A  committee  are 
to  call  in  the  morning  to  escort  me  to  the  train.  I 
am  to  be  dismissed  from  the  community  with  public 
honors." 


THE   STORM  BREAKS  281 

Watson  was  climbing  down  from  the  buggy,  when 
a  small  party  of  men  were  seen  approaching,  and  big 
Josh  Green,  followed  by  several  other  resolute-look- 
ing colored  men,  came  up  and  addressed  them. 

"  Dr.  Miller,"  cried  Green,  ''  Mr.  Watson,  —  we  're 
lookin'  fer  a  leader.  De  w'ite  folks  are  killin'  de 
niggers,  an'  we  ain'  gwine  ter  stan'  up  an'  be  shot 
down  like  dogs.  We  're  gwine  ter  defen'  ou'  lives,  an' 
we  ain'  gwine  ter  run  away  f'm  no  place  where  we  've 
got  a  right  ter  be  ;  an'  woe  be  ter  de  w'ite  man  w'at 
lays  ban's  on  us !  Dere  's  two  niggers  in  dis  town  ter 
eve'y  w'ite  man,  an'  ef  we  've  got  ter  be  killt,  we  '11 
take  some  w'ite  folks  'long  wid  us,  ez  sho'  ez  dere  's  a 
God  in  heaven,  —  ez  I  s'pose  dere  is,  dough  He  mus'  be 
'sleep,  er  busy  somewhar  e'se  ter-day.  Will  you-all 
come  an'  lead  us  ?  " 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Watson,  "  what  is  the  use  ? 
The  negroes  will  not  back  you  up.  They  have  n't  the 
arms,  nor  the  moral  courage,  nor  the  leadership." 

"  We  '11  git  de  arms,  an'  we  '11  git  de  courage,  ef 
you  '11  come  an'  lead  us  !  We  wants  leaders,  —  dat  's 
w'y  we  come  ter  you  !  " 

"  What 's  the  use  ?  "  returned  Watson  despairingly. 
"  The  odds  are  too  heavy.  I  've  been  ordered  out 
of  town  ;  if  I  stayed,  I  'd  be  shot  on  sight,  unless  I 
had  a  body-guard  around  me." 

"  We  '11  be  yo'  body-guard  I  "  shouted  half  a  dozen 
voices. 

"  And  when  my  body-guard  was  shot,  what  then  ? 
I  have  a  wife  and  children.  It  is  my  duty  to  live  for 
them.  If  I  died,  I  should  get  no  glory  and  no  reward, 
and  my  family  would  be  reduced  to  beggary,  —  to 
which  they  '11  soon  be  near  enough  as  it  is.  This 
affair  will  blow  over  in  a  day  or  two.     The  white 


282  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

people  will  be  ashamed  of  themselves  to-morrow,  and 
apprehensive  of  the  consequences  for  some  time  to 
come.  Keep  quiet,  boj^s,  and  trust  in  God.  You 
won't  gain  anything  by  resistance." 

"  '  God  he'ps  dem  dat  he'ps  demselves,'  "  returned 
Josh  stoutly.  "  Ef  Mr.  Watson  won't  lead  us,  will 
you.  Dr.  Miller  ?  "  said  the  spokesman,  turning  to  the 
doctor. 

For  Miller  it  was  an  agonizing  moment.  He  was 
no  coward,  morally  or  physically.  Every  manly  in- 
stinct urged  him  to  go  forward  and  take  up  the  cause 
of  these  leaderless  people,  and,  if  need  be,  to  defend 
their  lives  and  their  rights  w^ith  his  ow^n,  —  but  to 
what  end  ? 

"Listen,  men,"  he  said.  "We  would  only  be 
throwing  our  lives  away.  Suppose  we  made  a  deter- 
mined stand  and  won  a  temporary  victory.  By  morn- 
ing every  train,  every  boat,  every  road  leading  into 
Wellington,  would  be  crowded  with  white  men,  —  as 
they  probably  will  be  any  way,  —  with  arms  in  their 
hands,  curses  on  their  lips,  and  vengeance  in  their 
hearts.  In  the  minds  of  those  who  make  and  admin- 
ister the  laws,  we  have  no  standing  in  the  court  of 
conscience.  They  would  kill  us  in  the  fight,  or  they 
would  hang  us  afterwards,  —  one  way  or  another,  we 
should  be  doomed.  I  should  like  to  lead  you ;  I 
should  like  to  arm  everv  colored  man  in  this  town,  and 
have  them  stand  firmly  in  line,  not  for  attack,  but  for 
defense ;  but  if  I  attempted  it,  and  they  should  stand 
by  me,  which  is  questionable,  —  for  I  have  met  them 
fleeing  from  the  tow^n,  —  my  life  would  pay  the  forfeit. 
Alive,  I  may  be  of  some  use  to  you,  and  j^ou  are 
welcome  to  my  life  in  that  way,  —  I  am  giving  it 
freely.     Dead,  I  should  be  a  mere  lump  of  carrion. 


THE  STORM  BREAKS  283 

Who  remembers  even  the  names  of  those  who  have 
been  done  to  death  in  the  Southern  States  for  the 
past  twenty  years  ?  " 

"  I  'members  de  name  er  one  of  'em,"  said  Josh, 
"  an'  I  'members  de  name  er  de  man  dat  killt  'im,  an' 
I  s'pec'  his  time  is  mighty  nigh  come." 

"  My  advice  is  not  heroic,  but  I  think  it  is  wise. 
In  this  riot  we  are  placed  as  we  should  be  in  a  war : 
we  have  no  territory,  no  base  of  supplies,  no  organiza- 
tion, no  outside  sympathy,  —  we  stand  in  the  position 
of  a  race,  in  a  case  like  this,  without  money  and  with- 
out friends.  Our  time  will  come,  —  the  time  when 
we  can  command  respect  for  our  rights  ;  but  it  is  not 
yet  in  sight.  Give  it  up,  boys,  and  wait.  Good  may 
come  of  this,  after  all." 

Several  of  the  men  wavered,  and  looked  irresolute. 

"  I  reckon  that 's  all  so,  doctuh,"  returned  Josh, 
"  an',  de  way  you  put  it,  I  don'  blame  you  ner  Mr. 
Watson ;  but  all  dem  reasons  ain'  got  no  weight  wid 
me.  I  'm  gwine  in  dat  town,  an'  ef  any  w'ite  man 
'sturbs  me,  dere  '11  be  trouble,  —  dere  '11  be  double 
trouble,  —  I  feels  it  in  my  bones  !  " 

"  Remember  your  old  mother.  Josh,"  said  Miller. 

"  Yas,  suh,  I  '11  'member  her ;  dat 's  all  I  kin  do 
now.  I  don'  need  ter  wait  fer  her  no  mo',  fer  she 
died  dis  mo'nin'.  I  'd  lack  ter  see  her  buried,  suh, 
but  I  may  not  have  de  chance.  Ef  I  gits  killt,  will 
you  do  me  a  favor  ?  " 

"Yes,  Josh;  what  is  it?" 

"  Ef  I  should  git  laid  out  in  dis  commotion  dat 's 
gwine  on,  will  you  collec'  my  wages  f'ra  yo'  brother, 
and  see  dat  de  ole  'oman  is  put  away  right?  " 

"  Yes,  of  course." 

"  Wid  a  nice  coffin,  an'  a  nice  fune'al,  an'  a  head- 
bo'dan'afoot-bo'd?" 


284  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

"  Yes." 

"  All  right,  suh !  Ef  I  don'  live  ter  do  it,  I  '11 
know  it  '11  be  'tended  ter  right.  Now  we  're  gwine  out 
ter  de  cotton  compress,  an'  git  a  lot  er  colored  men 
tergether,  an'  ef  de  w'ite  folks  'sturbs  me,  I  should  n't 
be  s'prise'  ef  dere  'd  be  a  mix-up  ;  —  an'  ef  dere  is,  me 
an  one  w'ite  man  '11  stan'  befo'  de  jedgment  th'one  er 
God  dis  day ;  an'  it  won't  be  me  w'at  '11  be  'feared  er 
de  jedgment.  Come  along,  boys !  Dese  gentlemen 
may  have  somethin'  ter  live  f er  ;  but  ez  fer  my  pa't, 
I  'd  ruther  be  a  dead  nigger  any  day  dan  a  live  dog  1 " 


XXXIII 

INTO   THE   lion's   JAWS 

The  party  under  Josh's  leadership  moved  off  down 
the  road.  MiUer,  while  entirely  convinced  that  he  had 
acted  wisely  in  declining  to  accompany  them,  was  yet 
conscious  of  a  distinct  feeling*  of  shame  and  envy  that 
he,  too,  did  not  feel  impelled  to  throw  away  his  life  in 
a  hopeless  struggle. 

Watson  left  the  buggy  and  disappeared  by  a  path 
at  the  roadside.  Miller  drove  rapidly  forward.  After 
entering  the  town,  he  passed  several  small  parties  of 
white  men,  but  escaped  scrutiny  by  sitting  well  back 
in  his  buggy,  the  presumption  being  that  a  well- 
dressed  man  with  a  good  horse  and  buggy  was  white. 
Torn  with  anxiety,  he  reached  home  at  about  four 
o'clock.  Driving  the  horse  into  the  yard,  he  sprang 
down  from  the  buggy  and  hastened  to  the  house, 
which  he  found  locked,  front  and  rear. 

A  repeated  rapping  brought  no  response.  At 
length  he  broke  a  window,  and  entered  the  house  like 
a  thief. 

"  Janet,  Janet !  "  he  called  in  alarm,  "  where  are 
you?     It  is  only  I,  —  Will !  " 

There  was  no  reply.  He  ran  from  room  to  room, 
only  to  find  them  all  empty.  Again  he  called  his 
wife's  name,  and  was  about  rushing  from  the  house, 
when  a  muffled  voice  came  faintly  to  his  ear,  — 

"  Is  dat  you,  Doctuh  Miller  ?  " 


286  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

"  Yes.  Who  are  you,  and  where  are  my  wife  and 
child?" 

He  was  looking  around  in  perplexity,  when  the  door 
of  a  low  closet  under  the  kitchen  sink  was  opened  from 
within,  and  a  woolly  head  was  cautiously  protruded. 

"  Are  you  sho^  dat  's  you,  doctuh  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Sally  ;  where  are  "  — 

"  An'  not  some  w'ite  man  come  ter  bu'n  down  de 
house  an'  kill  all  de  niggers  ?  " 

"  No,  Sally,  it 's  me  all  right.  Where  is  my  wife  ? 
Where  is  my  child  ?  " 

"  Dey  went  over  ter  see  Mis'  Butler  'long  'bout  two 
o'clock,  befo'  dis  fuss  broke  out,  suh.  Oh,  Lawdy, 
Lawdy,  suh  !  Is  all  de  cuUud  folks  be'n  killt  'cep'n' 
me  an'  you,  suh  ?  Fer  de  Lawd's  sake,  suh,  you  won* 
let  'em  kill  me,  will  you,  suh  ?  I  '11  wuk  fer  you  fer 
nuthin',  suh,  all  my  bawn  days,  ef  you  '11  save  my  life, 
suh !  " 

"  Calm  yourself,  Sally.  You  '11  be  safe  enough  if 
you  stay  right  here,  I  've  no  doubt.  They  '11  not  harm 
women,  —  of  that  I  'm  sure  enough,  although  I  have  n't 
yet  got  the  bearings  of  this  deplorable  affair.  Stay 
here  and  look  after  the  house.  I  must  find  my  wife 
and  child  !  " 

The  distance  across  the  city  to  the  home  of  the  Mrs. 
Butler  whom  his  wife  had  gone  to  visit  was  exactly 
one  mile.  Though  Miller  had  a  good  horse  in  front 
of  him,  he  was  two  hours  in  reaching  his  destination. 
Never  will  the  picture  of  that  ride  fade  from  his 
memory.  In  his  dreams  he  repeats  it  night  after 
night,  and  sees  the  sights  that  wounded  his  e3^es, 
and  feels  the  thoughts  —  the  haunting  spirits  of  the 
thoughts  —  that  tore  his  heart  as  he  rode  through  hell 
to  find  those  whom  he  was  seeking. 


INTO   THE   LION'S  JAWS  287 

For  a  short  distance  he  saw  nothing,  and  made 
rapid  progress.  As  he  turned  the  first  corner,  his 
horse  shied  at  the  dead  body  of  a  negro,  lying  huddled 
up  in  the  collapse  which  marks  sudden  death.  What 
Miller  shuddered  at  was  not  so  much  the  thought  of 
death,  to  the  sight  of  which  his  profession  had  accus- 
tomed him,  as  the  suggestion  of  what  it  signified.  He 
had  taken  with  allowance  the  wild  statement  of  the 
fleeing  fugitives.  Watson,  too,  had  been  greatly  ex- 
cited, and  Josh  Green's  group  were  desperate  men, 
as  much  liable  to  be  misled  by  their  courage  as  the 
others  by  their  fears ;  but  here  was  proof  that  mur- 
der had  been  done,  —  and  his  wife  and  children  were 
in  the  town.  Distant  shouts,  and  the  sound  of  fire- 
arms, increased  his  alarm.  He  struck  his  horse  with 
the  whip,  and  dashed  on  toward  the  heart  of  the  city, 
which  he  must  traverse  in  order  to  reach  Janet  and 
the  child. 

At  the  next  corner  lay  the  body  of  another  man, 
with  the  red  blood  oozing  from  a  ghastly  wound  in 
the  forehead.  Thenegroes  seemed  to  have  been,  killed, 
as  the  band  plays  in  circus  parades,  at  the  street  inter- 
sections, where  the  example  would  be  most  effective. 
Miller,  with  a  wild  leap  of  the  heart,  had  barely  passed 
this  gruesome  spectacle,  when  a  sharp  voice  com- 
manded him  to  halt,  and  emphasized  the  order  by 
covering  him  with  a  revolver.  Forgetting  the  pru- 
dence he  had  preached  to  others,  he  had  raised  his 
whip  to  strike  the  horse,  when  several  hands  seized 
the  bridle. 

"  Come  down,  you  damn  fool,"  growled  an  author- 
itative voice.  "  Don't  you  see  we  're  in  earnest  ?  Do 
you  want  to  get  killed  ?  " 

''  Why  should  I  come  down  ?  "  asked  Miller. 


288  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

"  Because  we  've  ordered  you  to  come  down  !  This 
is  the  white  people's  day,  and  when  they  order,  a 
nigger  must  obey.  We  're  going  to  search  you  for 
weapons." 

"  Search  away.  You  '11  find  nothing  but  a  case  of 
surgeon's  tools,  which  I  'm  more  than  likely  to  need 
before  this  day  is  over,  from  all  indications." 

"  No  matter ;  we  '11  make  sure  of  it !  That 's  what 
we  're  here  for.  Come  down,  if  you  don't  want  to  be 
pulled  down !  " 

Miller  stepped  down  from  his  buggy.  His  inter- 
locutor, who  made  no  effort  at  disguise,  was  a  clerk 
in  a  dry-goods  store  where  Miller  bought  most  of  his 
family  and  hospital  supplies.  He  made  no  sign  of 
recognition,  however,  and  Miller  claimed  no  acquaint- 
ance. This  man,  who  had  for  several  years  emptied 
Miller's  pockets  In  the  course  of  more  or  less  legiti- 
mate trade,  now  went  through  them,  aided  by  another 
man,  more  rapidly  than  ever  before,  the  searchers 
convincing  themselves  that  Miller  carried  no  deadly 
weapon  upon  his  person.  Meanwhile,  a  third  ran- 
sacked the  buggy  with  like  result.  Miller  recognized 
several  others  of  the  party,  who  made  not  the  slightest 
attempt  at  disguise,  though  no  names  were  called  by 
any  one. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  demanded  the  leader. 

"  I  am  looking  for  my  wife  and  child,"  replied 
Miller. 

"  Well,  run  along,  and  keep  them  out  of  the  streets 
when  you  find  them ;  and  keep  your  hands  out  of  this 
affair,  if  you  wish  to  live  in  this  town,  which  from 
now  on  will  be  a  white  man's  town,  as  you  niggers 
will  be  pretty  firmly  convinced  before  night." 

Miller  drove  on  as  swiftly  as  might  be. 


INTO   THE  LION'S  JAWS  289 

At  the  next  corner  he  was  stopped  again.  In  the 
white  man  who  held  him  up,  Miller  recognized  a  neigh- 
bor of  his  own.  After  a  short  detention  and  a  perfunc- 
tory search,  the  white  man  remarked  apologetically :  — 

"  Sorry  to  have  had  to  trouble  you,  doctuh,  but 
them  's  the  o'ders.  It  ain't  men  like  you  that  we  're 
after,  but  the  vicious  and  criminal  class  of  niggers." 

Miller  smiled  bitterly  as  he  urged  his  horse  for- 
ward. He  was  quite  well  aware  that  the  virtuous  citi- 
zen who  had  stopped  him  had  only  a  few  weeks  before 
finished  a  term  in  the  penitentiary,  to  which  he  had 
been  sentenced  for  stealing.  Miller  knew  that  he 
could  have  bought  all  the  man  owned  for  fifty  dollars, 
and  his  soul  for  as  much  more. 

A  few  rods  farther  on,  he  came  near  running  over 
the  body  of  a  wounded  man  who  lay  groaning  by  the 
wayside.  Every  professional  instinct  urged  him  to 
stop  and  offer  aid  to  the  sufferer  ;  but  the  uncertainty 
concerning  his  wife  and  child  proved  a  stronger  mo- 
tive and  urged  him  resistlessly  forward.  Here  and 
there  the  ominous  sound  of  firearms  was  audible.  He 
might  have  thought  this  merely  a  part  of  the  show, 
like  the  "  powder  play  "  of  the  Arabs,  but  for  the 
bloody  confirmation  of  its  earnestness  which  had 
already  assailed  his  vision.  Somewhere  in  this  seeth- 
ing caldron  of  unrestrained  passions  were  his  wife  and 
child,  and  he  must  hurry  on. 

His  progress  was  painfully  slow.  Three  times  he 
was  stopped  and  searched.  More  than  once  his  way 
was  barred,  and  he  was  ordered  to  turn  back,  each 
such  occasion  requiring  a  detour  which  consumed 
many  minutes.  The  man  who  last  stopped  hiroL  was 
a  well-known  Jewish  merchant.  A  Jew  —  God  of 
Moses !  —  had  so  far  forgotten   twenty  centuries   of 


290  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

history  as  to  join  in  the  persecution  of  another  op- 
pressed race !  When  almost  reduced  to  despair  by 
these  innumerable  delays,  he  perceived,  coming 
toward  him,  Mr.  Ellis,  the  sub-editor  of  the  Morning 
Chronicle.  Miller  had  just  been  stopped  and  ques- 
tioned again,  and  Ellis  came  up  as  he  was  starting 
once  more  upon  his  endless  ride. 

"  Dr.  Miller,"  said  Ellis  kindly,  "  it  is  dangerous 
for  you  on  the  streets.     Why  tempt  the  danger?" 

"  I  am  looking  for  my  wife  and  child,"  returned 
Miller  in  desperation.  "  They  are  somewhere  in  this 
town,  —  1  don't  know  where,  —  and  I  must  find 
them." 

Ellis  had  been  horror-stricken  by  the  tragedy  of  the 
afternoon,  the  wholly  superfluous  slaughter  of  a  harm- 
less people,  whom  a  show  of  force  would  have  been 
quite  sufficient  to  overawe.  Elaborate  explanations 
were  afterwards  given  for  these  murders,  which  were 
said,  perhaps  truthfully,  not  to  have  been  premedi- 
tated, and  many  regrets  were  expressed.  The  young 
man  had  been  surprised,  quite  as  much  as  the  negroes 
themselves,  at  the  ferocity  displayed.  His  own 
thoughts  and  feelings  were  attuned  to  anything  but 
slaughter.  Only  that  morning  he  had  received  a  per- 
fumed note,  calling  his  attention  to  what  the  writer 
described  as  a  very  noble  deed  of  his,  and  requesting 
him  to  call  that  evening  and  receive  the  writer's 
thanks.  Had  he  known  that  Miss  Pemberton,  several 
weeks  after  their  visit  to  the  Sound,  had  driven  out 
again  to  the  hotel  and  made  some  inquiries  among  the 
servants,  he  might  have  understood  better  the  mean- 
ing of  this  missive.  When  Miller  spoke  of  his  wife 
and  child,  some  subtle  thread  of  suggestion  coupled 
the  note  with  Miller's  plight. 


INTO  THE  LION'S  JAWS  291 

"I'll  go  with  you,  Dr.  Miller,"  he  said,  "if  you'll 
permit  me.  In  my  company  you  will  not  be  dis- 
turbed." 

He  took  a  seat  in  Miller's  buggy,  after  which  it  was 
not  molested. 

Neither  of  them  spoke.  Miller  was  sick  at  heart ; 
he  could  have  wept  with  grief,  even  had  the  welfare 
of  his  own  dear  ones  not  been  involved  in  this  regret- 
table affair.  With  prophetic  instinct  he  foresaw  the 
hatreds  to  which  this  day  would  give  birth ;  the  long 
years  of  constraint  and  distrust  which  would  still 
further  widen  the  breach  between  two  peoples  whom 
fate  had  thrown  together  in  one  community. 

There  was  nothing  for  Ellis  to  say.  In  his  heart 
he  could  not  defend  the  deeds  of  this  day.  The  petty 
annoyances  which  the  whites  had  felt  at  the  spectacle 
of  a  few  negroes  in  office ;  the  not  unnatural  resent- 
ment of  a  proud  people  at  what  had  seemed  to  them  a 
presumptuous  freedom  of  speech  and  lack  of  deference 
on  the  part  of  their  inferiors,  —  these  things,  which 
he  knew  were  to  be  made  the  excuse  for  overturning 
the  city  government,  he  realized  full  well  were  no 
sort  of  justification  for  the  wholesale  murder  or  other 
horrors  which  might  well  ensue  before  the  day  was 
done.  He  could  not  approve  the  acts  of  his  own 
people ;  neither  could  he,  to  a  negro,  condemn  them. 
Hence  he  was  silent. 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Ellis,"  exclaimed  Miller,  when 
they  had  reached  the  house  where  he  expected  to  find 
his  wife.  "  This  is  the  place  where  I  was  going.  I 
am  —  under  a  great  obligation  to  you." 

"  Not  at  all.  Dr.  Miller.  I  need  not  tell  you  how 
much  I  regret  this  deplorable  affair." 

Ellis  went  back  down  the  street.     Fastening  his 


292  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

horse  to  the  fence,  Miller  sprang  forward  to  find  his 
wife  and  child.  They  would  certainly  be  there,  for 
no  colored  woman  would  be  foolhardy  enough  to  ven- 
ture on  the  streets  after  the  riot  had  broken  out. 

As  he  drew  nearer,  he  felt  a  sudden  apprehension. 
The  house  seemed  strangely  silent  and  deserted.  The 
doors  were  closed,  and  the  Venetian  blinds  shut  tightly. 
Even  a  dog  which  had  appeared  slunk  timidly  back 
under  the  house,  instead  of  barking  vociferously  ac- 
cording to  the  usual  habit  of  his  kind. 


XXXIV 

THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW 

Miller  knocked  at  the  door.  There  was  no  re- 
sponse. He  went  round  to  the  rear  of  the  house.  The 
dog  had  slunk  behind  the  woodpile.  Miller  knocked 
again,  at  the  back  door,  and,  receiving  no  reply,  called 
aloud. 

"  Mrs.  Butler !  It  is  I,  Dr.  Miller.  Is  my  wife 
here  ?  " 

The  slats  of  a  near-by  blind  opened  cautiously. 

"  Is  it  really  you,  Dr.  Miller?  " 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Butler.  I  am  looking  for  my  wife  and 
child,  —  are  they  here  ?  " 

"  No,  sir ;  she  became  alarmed  about  you,  soon 
after  the  shooting  commenced,  and  I  could  not  keep 
her.  She  left  for  home  half  an  hour  ago.  It  is 
coming  on  dusk,  and  she  and  the  child  are  so  near 
white  that  she  did  not  expect  to  be  molested." 

"  Which  way  did  she  go  ?  " 

*'  She  meant  to  go  by  the  main  street.  She  thought 
it  would  be  less  dangerous  than  the  back  streets. 
I  tried  to  get  her  to  stay  here,  but  she  was  frantic 
about  you,  and  nothing  I  could  say  would  keep  her. 
Is  the  riot  almost  over.  Dr.  Miller?  Do  you  think 
they  will  murder  us  all,  and  burn  down  our  houses  ?  " 

"  God  knows,"  replied  Miller,  with  a  groan.  "  But 
I  must  find  her,  if  I  lose  my  own  life  in  the  attempt." 

Surely,   he  thought,   Janet   would   be   safe.     The 


294  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

wliite  people  of  Wellington  were  not  savages  ;  or  at 
least  their  temporary  reversion  to  savagery  would 
not  go  as  far  as  to  include  violence  to  delicate  women 
and  children.  Then  there  flashed  into  his  mind  Josh 
Green's  story  of  his  "  silly  "  mother,  who  for  twenty 
years  had  walked  the  earth  as  a  child,  as  the  result  of 
one  night's  terror,  and  his  heart  sank  within  him. 

Miller  realized  that  his  buggy,  by  attracting  atten- 
tion, had  been  a  hindrance  rather  than  a  heljj  in  his 
progress  across  the  city.  In  order  to  follow  his  wife, 
he  must  practically  retrace  his  steps  over  the  very 
route  he  had  come.  Night  was  falling.  It  would  be 
easier  to  cross  the  town  on  foot.  In  the  dusk  his  own 
color,  slight  in  the  daytime,  would  not  attract  atten- 
tion, and  by  dodging  in  the  shadows  he  might  avoid 
those  who  might  wish  to  intercept  him.  But  he  must 
reach  Janet  and  the  boy  at  any  risk.  He  had  not  been 
willing  to  throw  his  life  away  hopelessly,  but  he  would 
cheerfully  have  sacrificed  it  for  those  whom  he  loved. 

He  had  gone  but  a  short  distance,  and  had  not  yet 
reached  the  centre  of  mob  activity,  when  he  inter- 
cepted a  band  of  negro  laborers  from  the  cotton  com- 
press, with  big  Josh  Green  at  their  head. 

"  Hello,  doctuh!  "  cried  Josh,  "does  you  wan'  ter 
]me  us  r 

"  I  'm  looking  for  my  wife  and  child.  Josh.  They  're 
somewhere  in  this  den  of  murderers.  Have  any  of 
you  seen  them  ?" 

No  one  had  seen  them. 

"  You  men  are  running  a  great  risk,"  said  Miller. 
"  You  are  rushing  on  to  certain  death." 

"  Well,  suh,  maybe  we  is  ;  but  we  're  gwine  ter  die 
fightin'.  Dey  say  de  w'ite  folks  is  gwine  ter  bu'n  all 
de  cullud  schools  an'  chu'ches,  an'  kill  all  de  niggers 


THE   VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  295 

dey  kin  ketch.  Dey  're  gwine  ter  bu'n  yo'  new  lios- 
pittle,  ef  somebody  don'  stop  'em." 

"  Josh  —  men  —  you  are  throwing  your  lives  away. 
It  is  a  fever ;  it  will  w^ear  off  to-morrow,  or  to-night. 
They  '11  not  burn  the  schoolhouses,  nor  the  hospital 
—  they  are  not  such  fools,  for  they  benefit  the  com- 
munity ;  and  they  '11  only  kill  the  colored  people  who 
resist  them.  Every  one  of  you  with  a  gun  or  a  pistol 
carries  his  death  warrant  in  his  own  hand.  I  'd 
rather  see  the  hospital  burn  than  have  one  of  you  lose 
his  life.  Resistance  only  makes  the  matter  worse,  — 
the  odds  against  you  are  too  long." 

*'  Things  can't  be  any  wuss,  doctuh,"  replied  one 
of  the  crowd  sturdily.  "  A  gun  is  mo'  dange'ous  ter 
de  man  in  front  of  it  dan  ter  de  man  behin'  it. 
Dey  're  gwine  ter  kill  us  anyhow  ;  an'  we  're  tired,  — 
we  read  de  newspapers,  —  an'  we  're  tired  er  bein'  shot 
down  like  dogs,  widout  jedge  er  jury.  We  'd  ruther 
die  fightin'  dan  be  stuck  like  pigs  in  a  pen  I  " 

"  God  help  you !  "  said  Miller.  "  As  for  me,  I 
must  find  my  wife  and  child." 

"  Good-by,  doctuh,"  cried  Josh,  brandishing  a  huge 
knife.  "  'Member  'bout  de  ole  'oman,  ef  you  lives  thoo 
dis.  Don'  fergit  de  headbo'd  an'  de  footbo'd,  an'  a 
silver  plate  on  de  coffin,  ef  dere  's  money  ernuff." 

They  went  their  way,  and  Miller  hurried  on.  They 
might  resist  attack ;  he  thought  it  extremely  unlikely 
that  they  would  begin  it ;  but  he  knew  perfectly  \vell 
that  the  mere  knowledgre  that  some  of  the  neo^roes 
contemplated  resistance  would  only  further  inflame  the 
infuriated  wdiites.  The  colored  men  mi^ht  win  a 
momentary  victory,  though  it  was  extremely  doubtful ; 
and  they  would  as  surely  reap  the  harvest  later  on. 
The  qualities  which  in  a  white  man   would  win  the 


296  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

applause  o£  the  world  would  in  a  negro  be  taken  as 
the  marks  of  savagery.  So  thoroughly  diseased  was 
public  opinion  in  matters  of  race  that  the  negro  who 
died  for  the  common  rights  of  humanity  might  look 
for  no  meed  of  admiration  or  glory.  At  such  a  time, 
in  the  white  man's  eyes,  a  negro's  courage  would  be 
mere  desperation  ;  his  love  of  liberty,  a  mere  animal 
dislike  of  restraint.  Every  finer  human  instinct 
would  be  interpreted  in  terms  of  savagery.  Or,  if 
forced  to  admire,  they  would  none  the  less  repress. 
They  would  applaud  his  courage  while  they  stretched 
his  neck,  or  carried  off  the  fragments  of  his  mangled 
body  as  souvenirs,  in  much  the  same  way  that  savages 
preserve  the  scalps  or  eat  the  hearts  of  their  enemies. 

But  concern  for  the  fate  of  Josh  and  his  friends 
occupied  only  a  secondary  place  in  Miller's  mind  for 
the  moment.  His  wife  and  child  were  somewhere 
ahead  of  him.  He  pushed  on.  He  had  covered  about 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  more,  and  far  down  the  street 
could  see  the  signs  of  greater  animation,  when  he  came 
upon  the  body  of  a  woman  lying  upon  the  sidewalk. 
In  the  dusk  he  had  almost  stumbled  over  it,  and  his 
heart  came  up  in  his  mouth.  A  second  glance  re- 
vealed that  it  could  not  be  his  wife.  It  was  a  fearful 
portent,  however,  of  what  her  fate  might  be.  The 
"  war  "  had  reached  the  women  and  children.  Yield- 
ing to  a  professional  instinct,  he  stooped,  and  saw  that 
the  prostrate  form  was  that  of  old  Aunt  Jane  Letlow. 
She  was  not  yet  quite  dead,  and  as  Miller,  with  a 
tender  touch,  placed  her  head  in  a  more  comfortable 
position,  her  lips  moved  with  a  last  lingering  flicker 
of  consciousness:  — 

L/Omm  ,  missis,  comin  I 

Mammy  Jane  had  gone  to  join  the  old  mistress  upon 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  297 

whose  memory  her  heart  was  fixed ;  and  yet  not  all 
her  reverence  for  her  old  mistress,  nor  all  her  defer- 
ence to  the  whites,  nor  all  their  friendship  for  her, 
had  been  able  to  save  her  from  this  raging  devil  of 
race  hatred  which  momentarily  possessed  the  town. 

Perceiving  that  he  could  do  no  good,  Miller  has- 
tened onward,  sick  at  heart.  Whenever  he  saw  a  party 
of  white  men  approaching,  —  these  brave  reformers 
never  went  singly,  —  he  sought  concealment  in  the 
shadow  of  a  tree  or  the  shrubbery  in  some  yard  until 
they  had  passed.  He  had  covered  about  two  thirds 
of  the  distance  homeward,  when  his  eyes  fell  upon 
a  group  beneath  a  lamp-post,  at  sight  of  which  he 
turned  pale  with  horror,  and  rushed  forward  with  a 
terrible  cry. 


XXXV 

"MINE   ENEMY,    O   MINE   ENE^Iy! 


» 


The  proceedings  of  the  day —  planned  originally  as 
a  "  demonstration,"  dignified  subsequently  as  a  "  revo- 
lution," under  any  name  the  culmination  of  the  con- 
spiracy formed  by  Carteret  and  his  colleagues  —  had 
by  seven  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  developed  into  a 
murderous  riot.  Crowds  of_white  men  and  hal£=gTOwn- 
boys,  drunk  with  whiskey  or.  with  license,  raged 
through  the  streets,  beating,  chasing,  or  killing  any 
negro  so  unfortunate  as  to  fall  into  their  hands. 
Why  any  particular  negro  was  assailed,  no  one 
stopped  to  inquire  ;  it  was  merely  a  white  mob  thirst- 
ing for  black  blood,  with  no  more  conscience  or  dis- 
crimination than  would  be  exercised  by  a  wolf  in  a 
sheepfold.  It  was  race  against  race,  the  whites  against 
the^ negroes;  and  it  was  a  one-sided  affair,  for  until 
Josh  Green  got  together  his  body  of  armed  men,  no 
effective  resistance  had  been  made  by  any  colored 
person,  and  the  individuals  who  had  been  killed  had 
so  far  left  no  marks  upon  the  enemy  by  which  they 
might  be  remembered. 

"  Kill  the  niggers  !  "  rang  out  now  and  then  through 
the  dusk,  and  far  down  the  street  and  along  the  inter- 
secting thoroughfares  distant  voices  took  up  the  omi- 
nous refrain,  —  "  Kill  the  niggers !  Kill  the  damned 
niggers  1  " 


n 


MINE   ENEMY,   O  MINE  ENEMY!"  299 


Now,  not  a  dark  face  had  been  seen  on  the  street 
for  half  an  hour,  until  the  group  of  men  headed  by 
Josh  made  their  appearance  in  the  negro  quarter. 
Armed  with  guns  and  axes,  they  presented  quite  a 
formidable  ajDpearance  as  they  made  their  way  toward 
the  new  hospital,  near  which  stood  a  schoolhouse  and 
a  large  church,  both  used  by  the  colored  people. 
They  did  not  reach  their  destination  without  having 
met  a  number  of  white  men,  singly  or  in  twos  or 
threes ;  and  the  rumor  spread  with  incredible  swift- 
ness that  the  negroes  in  turn  were  up  in  arms,  deter- 
mined to  massacre  all  the  whites  and  burn  the  town. 
Some  of  the  whites  became  alarmed,  and  recognizing 
the  power  of  the  negroes,  if  armed  and  conscious  of 
their  strength,  were  impressed  by  the  immediate  neces- 
sity of  overpowering  and  overawing  them.  Others, 
with  appetites  already  whetted  by  slaughter,  saw  a 
chance,  welcome  rather  than  not,  of  shedding  more 
black  blood.  Spontaneously  the  white  mob  flocked 
toward  the  hospital,  where  rumor  had  it  that  a  large 
body  of  desperate  negToes,  breathing  threats  of  blood 
and  fire,  had  taken  a  determined  stand. 

It  had  been  Josh's  plan  merely  to  remain  quietly 
and  peaceably  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  little  group 
of  public  institutions,  molesting  no  one,  unless  first 
attacked,  and  merely  letting  the  white  peoj)le  see 
that  they  meant  to  protect  their  own ;  but  so  rapidly 
did  the  rumor  spread,  and  so  promptly  did  the  white 
people  act,  that  by  the  time  Josh  and  his  supporters 
had  reached  the  top  of  the  rising  ground  where  the 
hospital  stood,  a  crowd  of  white  men  much  more 
numerous  than  their  own  party  were  following  them 
at  a  short  distance. 

Josh,  with  the  eye  of  a  general,  perceived  that  some 


300  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

of  his  party  were  becoming  a  little  nervous,  and  de- 
cided that  they  would  feel  safer  behind  shelter. 

"  I  reckon  we  better  go  inside  de  hospittle,  boys," 
he  exclaimed.  "Den  we'll  be  behind  brick  walls, 
an'  dem  other  fellows  '11  be  outside,  an'  ef  dere  's  an.y 
fightin',  we  '11  have  de  bes'  show.  We  ain'  gwine  ter 
do  no  shootin'  till  we  're  pestered,  an'  dey  '11  be  less 
likely  ter  pester  us  ef  dey  can't  git  at  us  widout  run- 
nin'  some  resk.  Come  along  in !  Be  men !  De 
gov'ner  er  de  President  is  gwine  ter  sen'  soldiers  ter 
stop  dese  gwines-on,  an'  meantime  we  kin  keep  dem 
white  devils  f'm  bu'nin'  down  our  hospittles  an^ 
chu'eh-houses.  Wen  dey  comes  an'  fin's  out  dat  we 
jes'  means  ter  pertect  ou'  prope'ty,  dey  '11  go  'long 
'bout  deir  own  business.  Er,  ef  dey  wants  a  scrap, 
dey  kin  have  it !     Come  erlong,  boys !  " 

Jerry  Letlow,  who  had  kept  out  of  sight  during  the 
day,  had  started  out,  after  night  had  set  in,  to  find 
Major  Carteret.  Jerry  was  very  much  afraid.  The 
events  of  the  day  had  filled  him  with  terror.  What- 
ever the  limitations  of  Jerry's  mind  or  character  may 
have  been,  Jerry  had  a  keen  appreciation  of  the 
danger  to  the  negroes  when  they  came  in  conflict  with 
the  whites,  and  he  had  no  desire  to  imperil  his  own 
skin.  He  valued  his  life  for  his  own  sake,  and  not 
for  any  altruistic  theory  that  it  might  be  of  service  to 
others.  In  other  words,  Jerry  was  something  of  a 
coward.  He  had  kept  in  hiding  all  day,  but  finding, 
toward  evening,  that  the  riot  did  not  abate,  and  fear- 
ing, from  the  rumors  which  came  to  his  ears,  that  all 
the  negroes  would  be  exterminated,  he  had  set  out, 
somewhat  desperately,  to  try  to  find  his  white  jDatrou 
and  protector.     He  had  been  cautious  to  avoid  meet- 


"MINE  ENEMY,  O  MINE  ENEMY!"  301 

ing  any  white  men,  and,  anticipating  no  danger  from 
those  of  his  own  race,  went  toward  the  party  which 
he  saw  approaching,  whose  path  would  cross  his 
own.  When  they  were  only  a  few  5^ards  apart, 
Josh  took  a  step  forward  and  caught  Jerry  by  the 
arm. 

"  Come  along,  Jerry,  we  need  you !  Here  's  another 
man,  boys.     Come  on  now,  and  fight  fer  yo'  race  !  " 

In  vain  Jerry  protested.  "  I  don'  wan'  ter  fight," 
he  howled.  "  De  w'ite  folks  ain'  gwine  ter  pester 
me  ;  dey  're  my  f rien's.  Tu'n  me  loose,  —  tu'n  me 
loose,  er  we  all  gwine  ter  git  killed !  " 

The  party  paid  no  attention  to  Jerry's  protesta- 
tions. Indeed,  with  the  crowd  of  whites  following 
behind,  they  were  simply  considering  the  question  of 
a  position  from  which  they  could  most  effectively 
defend  themselves  and  the  building  which  they  ima- 
gined to  be  threatened.  If  Josh  had  released  his  grip 
of  Jerry,  that  worthy  could  easily  have  escaped  from 
the  crowd ;  but  Josh  maintained  his  hold  almost 
mechanically,  and,  in  the  confusion,  Jerry  found  him- 
self swept  with  the  rest  into  the  hospital,  the  doors 
of  which  were  promptly  barricaded  with  the  heavier 
pieces  of  furniture,  and  the  windows  manned  by 
several  men  each.  Josh,  with  the  instinct  of  a  born 
commander,  posting  his  forces  so  that  they  could 
cover  with  their  guns  all  the  approaches  to  the  build- 
ing. Jerry  still  continuing  to  make  himself  trouble- 
some. Josh,  in  a  moment  of  impatience,  gave  him  a 
terrific  box  on  the  ear,  which  stretched  him  out  upon 
the  floor  unconscious. 

"  Shet  up,"  he  said  ;  "  ef  you  can't  stan'  up  like  a 
man,  keep  still,  and  don't  interfere  wid  men  w'at  will 
fight ! " 


302  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

The  hospital,  when  Josh  and  his  men  took  posses- 
sion, had  been  found  deserted.  Fortunately  there 
were  no  patients  for  that  day,  except  one  or  two  con- 
valescents, and  these,  with  the  attendants,  had  joined 
the  exodus  of  the  colored  people  from  the  town. 

A  white  man  advanced  from  the  crowd  without 
toward  the  main  entrance  to  the  hospital.  Big  Josh, 
looking  out  from  a  window,  grasped  his  gun  more 
firmly,  as  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  man  who  had  mur- 
dered his  father  and  darkened  his  mother's  life.  Me- 
chanically he  raised  his  rifle,  but  lowered  it  as  the 
white  man  lifted  up  his  hand  as  a  sign  that  he  wished 
to  speak. 

"  You  niggers,"  called  Captain  McBane  loudly,  — 
it  was  that  worthy,  —  "  you  niggers  are  courtin'  death, 
an'  you  won't  have  to  court  her  but  a  minute  er  two 
mo'  befo'  she  '11  have  you.  If  you  surrender  and  give 
up  your  arms,  you  '11  be  dealt  with  leniently,  —  you 
may  get  off  with  the  chain-gang  or  the  penitentiary. 
If  you  resist,  you  '11  be  shot  like  dogs." 

"  Dat  's  no  news,  Mr.  White  Man,"  replied  Josh, 
appearing  boldly  at  the  window.  "  We  're  use'  ter 
bein'  treated  like  dogs  by  men  like  you.  If  you  w'ite 
people  will  go  'long  an'  ten'  ter  yo'  own  business  an' 
let  us  alone,  we  '11  ten'  ter  ou'n.  You  've  got  guns,  an' 
we  've  got  jest  as  much  right  ter  carry  'em  as  you 
have.  Lay  down  yo'n,  an'  we  '11  lay  down  ou'n,  —  we 
did  n'  take  'em  up  fust ;  but  we  ain'  gwine  ter  let 
you  bu'n  down  ou'  chu'ches  an'  school'ouses,  er  dis 
hospittle,  an'  we  ain'  comin'  out  er  dis  house,  where 
we  ain'  disturbin'  nobody,  fer  you  ter  shoot  us  down 
er  sen'  us  ter  jail.     You  hear  me  !  " 

"  All  right,"  responded  McBane.  "  You  've  had  fair 
warning.     Your  blood  be  on  your  "  — 


"MINE  ENEMY,   O  MINE  ENEMY!"  303 

His  speech  was  interrupted  by  a  shot  from  the 
crowd,  which  splintered  the  window-casing  close  to 
Josh's  head.  This  was  followed  by  half  a  dozen  other 
shots,  which  were  replied  to,  almost  simultaneously, 
by  a  volley  from  within,  by  which  one  of  the  attack- 
ing party  was  killed  and  another  wounded. 

This  roused  the  mob  to  frenzy. 

"  Vengeance  !  vengeance  !  "  they  yelled.  "  Kill  the 
niggers ! " 

A  negro  had  killed  a  white  man,  —  the  unpardon- 
able sin,  admitting  neither  excuse,  justification,  nor 
extenuation.  From  time  immemorial  it  had  been 
bred  in  the  Southern  white  consciousness,  and  in  the 
negro  consciousness  also,  for  that  matter,  that  the 
person  of  a  white  man  was  sacred  from  the  touch  of 
a  negro,  no  matter  what  the  provocation.  A  dozen 
colored  men  lay  dead  in  the  streets  of  Wellington, 
inoffensive  people,  slain  in  cold  blood  because  they 
had  been  bold  enough  to  question  the  authority  of 
those  who  had  assailed  them,  or  frightened  enough  to 
flee  when  they  had  been  ordered  to  stand  still ;  but 
their  lives  counted  nothing  against  that  of  a  riotous 
white  man,  who  had  courted  death  by  attacking  a 
body  of  armed  men. 

The  crowd,  too,  surrounding  the  hospital,  had 
changed  somewhat  in  character.  The  men  who  had 
acted  as  leaders  in  the  early  afternoon,  having  accom- 
plished their  purpose  of  overturning  the  local  admin- 
istration and  establishing  a  provisional  government  of 
their  own,  had  withdrawn  from  active  participation  in 
the  rioting,  deeming  the  negroes  already  sufficiently 
overawed  to  render  unlikely  any  further  trouble  from 
that  source.  Several  of  the  ringleaders  had  indeed 
begun  to  exert  themselves  to  prevent  further  disorder, 


304  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

or_any  loss  of  property,  the  possibility  of  which  had 
become  apparent;  but  those  who  set  in  motion  the 
forces  of  evil  cannot  always  control  them  afterwards. 
The  baser  element  of  the  white  population,  recruited 
from  the  wharves  and  the  saloons,  was  now  pre- 
dominant. 

Captain  McBane  was  the  only  one  of  the  revolu- 
tionary committee  who  had  remained  with  the  mob, 
not  with  any  purpose  to  restore  or  preserve  order, 
but  because  he  found  the  company  and  the  occasion 
entirely  congenial.  He  had  had  no  opportunity,  at 
least  no  tenable  excuse,  to  kill  or  maim  a  negro  since 
the  termination  of  his  contract  with  the  state  for 
convicts,  and  this  occasion  had  awakened  a  dormant 
appetite  for  these  diversions.  We  are  all  puppets  in 
the  hands  of  Fate,  and  seldom  see  the  strings  that 
move  us.  McBane  had  lived  a  life  of  violence  and 
cruelty.  As  a  man  sows,  so  shall  he  reap.  In  works 
of  fiction,  such  men  are  sometimes  converted.  More 
often,  in  real  life,  they  do  not  change  their  natures 
until  they  are  converted  into  dust.  One  does  well  to 
distrust  a  tamed  tiger. 

On  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd  a  few  of  the  better 
class,  or  at  least  of  the  better  clad,  were  looking  on. 
The  double  volley  described  had  already  been  fired, 
when  the  number  of  these  was  augmented  by  the 
arrival  of  Major  Carteret  and  Mr.  Ellis,  who  had  just 
come  from  the  Chronicle  office,  where  the  next  day's 
paper  had  been  in  hasty  preparation.  They  pushed 
their  way  towards  the  front  of  the  crowd. 

"This  must  be  stopped,  Ellis,"  said  Carteret. 
"  They  are  burning  houses  and  killing  women  and 
children.  Old  Jane,  good  old  Mammy  Jane,  who 
nursed  my  wife  at  her  bosom,  and  has  waited  on  her 


"MINE  ENEMY,  O  MINE  ENEMY!"  305 

and  my  child  within  a  few  weeks,  was  killed  only  a  few 

rods  from  my  house,  to  which  she  was  evidently  fleeing 

for  protection.     It  must  have  been  by  accident,  —  I 

cannot  believe  that  any  white  man  in  town  would  be 

dastard  enough  to  commit  such  a  deed  intentionally  ! 

I  would  have  defended  her  with  my  own  life  !     We  ^ 

must  try  to  stop  this  thing  !  " 

"  Easier  said  than  done,"  returned  Ellis.  "  It  is  in 
tlie  fever  stage,  and  must  burn  itself  out.  We  shall 
be  lucky  if  it  does  not  burn  the  town  out.  Suppose 
the  negroes  should  also  take  a  hand  at  the  burning  ? 
We  have  advised  the  people  to  put  the  negroes  down, 
and  they  are  doing  the  job  thoroughly." 

"  My  God  !  "  replied  the  other,  with  a  gesture  of 
impatience,  as  he  continued  to  elbow  his  way  through 
the  crowd ;  "  I  meant  to  keep  them  in  their  places, 
—  I  did  not  intend  wholesale  murder  and  arson." 

Carteret,  having  reached  the  front  of  the  mob,  made 
an  effort  to  gain  their  attention. 

"  Gentlemen  !  "  he  cried  in  his  loudest  tones.  His 
voice,  unfortunately,  was  neither  loud  nor  piercing. 

*'  Kill  the  niggers  !  "  clamored  the  mob. 

"  Gentlemen,  I  implore  you  "  — 

The  crash  of  a  dozen  windows,  broken  by  stones 
and  pistol  shots,  drowned  his  voice. 

"  Gentlemen  !  "  he  shouted  ;  "  this  is  murder,  it  is 
madness  ;  it  is  a  disgrace  to  our  city,  to  our  state,  to 
our  civilization  !  " 

"  That 's  right !  "  replied  several  voices.  The  mob 
had  recognized  the  speaker.  "  It  is  a  disgrace,  and 
we  '11  not  put  up  with  it  a  moment  longer.  Burn  'em 
out !  Hurrah  for  Major  Carteret,  the  champion  of 
'  white  supremacy ' !  Three  cheers  for  the  Morning 
Chronicle  and  '  no  nigger  domination  ' !  " 


306  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

"  Hurrah,  hurrah,  hurrah !  "  yelled  the  crowd. 

In  vain  the  baffled  orator  gesticulated  and  shrieked 
in  the  effort  to  correct  the  misapprehension.  Their 
oracle  had  spoken ;  not  hearing  what  he  said,  they 
assumed  it  to  mean  encouragement  and  cooperation. 
Their  present  course  was  but  the  logical  outcome  of  the 
crusade  which  the  Morning  Chronicle  had  preached, 
in  season  and  out  of  season,  for  many  months.  When 
Carteret  had  spoken,  and  the  crowd  had  cheered  him, 
they  felt  that  they  had  done  all  that  courtesy  required, 
and  he  was  good-naturedly  elbowed  aside  while  they 
proceeded  with  the  work  in  hand,  which  was  now  to 
drive  out  the  negroes  from  the  hospital  and  avenge 
the  killing  of  their  comrade. 

Some  brought  hay,  some  kerosene,  and  others  wood 
from  a  pile  which  had  been  thrown  into  a  vacant  lot 
near  by.  Several  safe  ways  of  approach  to  the  build- 
ing were  discovered,  and  the  combustibles  placed  and 
fired.  The  flames,  soon  gaining  a  foothold,  leaped 
upward,  catching  here  and  there  at  the  exposed  wood- 
work, and  licking  the  walls  hungrily  with  long  tongues 
of  flame. 

Meanwhile  a  desultory  firing  was  kept  up  from  the 
outside,  which  was  replied  to  scatteringly  from  within 
the  hospital.  Those  inside  were  either  not  good 
marksmen,  or  excitement  had  spoiled  their  aim.  If  a 
face  appeared  at  a  window,  a  dozen  pistol  shots  from 
the  crowd  sought  the  sjDot  immediatel}". 

Higher  and  higher  leaped  the  flames.  Suddenly 
from  one  of  the  windows  sprang  a  black  figure,  waving 
a  white  handkerchief.  It  was  Jerry  Letlow.  Re- 
gaining consciousness  after  the  effect  of  Josh's  blow 
had  subsided,  Jerry  had  kept  quiet  and  watched  his 
opportunity.      From  a  safe   vantage-ground   he  had 


"MINE  ENEMY,  0  MINE  ENEMY!"  307 

scanned  the  crowd  without,  in  search  of  some  white 
friend.  When  he  saw  Major  Carteret  moving  dis- 
consolately away  after  his  futile  effort  to  stem  the 
torrent,  Jerry  made  a  dash  for  the  window.  He 
sprang  forth,  and,  waving  his  handkerchief  as  a  flag  of 
truce,  ran  toward  Major  Carteret,  shouting  franti- 
cally :  — 

"  Majah  Carteret  —  0  majah  !  It 's  me,  suh,  Jerry, 
suh  !  I  did  n'  go  in  dere  myse'f,  suh,  —  I  wuz  drag' 
in  dere  !  I  would  n'  do  nothin'  'g'inst  de  w'ite  folks, 
suh,  —  no,  'ndeed,  I  would  n',  suh !  " 

Jerry's  cries  were  drowned  in  a  roar  of  rage  and  a 
volley  of  shots  from  the  mob.  Carteret,  who  had  turned 
away  with  Ellis,  did  not  even  hear  his  servant's  voice. 
Jerry's  poor  flag  of  truce,  his  explanations,  his  reli- 
ance upon  his  white  friends,  all  failed  him  in  the 
moment  of  supreme  need.  In  that  hour,  as  in  any 
hour  when  the  depths  of  race  hatred  are  stirred,  a 
negro  was  no  more  than  a  brute  beast,  set  upon  by 
other  brute  beasts  whose  only  instinct  was  to  kill  and 
destroy. 

"Let  us  leave  this  inferno,  Ellis,"  said  Carteret, 
sick  with  anger  and  disgust.  He  had  just  become 
aware  that  a  negro  was  being  killed,  though  he  did 
not  know  whom.  "  We  can  do  nothing.  The  negroes 
have  themselves  to  blame,  —  they  tempted  us  beyond 
endurance.  I  counseled  firmness,  and  firm  measures 
were  taken,  and  our  purpose  was  accomplished.  I 
am  not  responsible  for  these  subsequent  horrors,  —  I 
wash  my  hands  of  them.     Let' us  go  !  " 

The  flames  gained  headway  and  gradually  enveloped 
the  burning  building,  until  it  became  evident  to  those 
within  as  well  as  those  without  that  the  position  of 
the  defenders  was  no  longer  tenable.     Would  they 


308  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

die  in  the  flames,  or  would  they  be  driven  out  ?  The 
uncertainty  soon  came  to  an  end. 

The  besieged  had  been  willing  to  fight,  so  long  as 
there  seemed  a  hope  of  successfully  defending  them- 
selves and  their  property;  for  their  purpose  was 
purely  one  of  defense.  When  they  saw  the  case  was 
hopeless,  inspired  by  Josh  Green's  reckless  courage, 
they  were  still  willing  to  sell  their  lives  dearly.  One 
or  two  of  them  had  already  been  killed,  and  as  many 
more  disabled.  The  fate  of  Jerry  Letlow  had  struck 
terror  to  the  hearts  of  several  others,  who  could 
scarcely  hide  their  fear.  After  the  building  had 
been  fired.  Josh's  exhortations  were  no  longer  able  to 
keep  them  in  the  hospital.  They  preferred  to  fight 
and  be  killed  in  the  open,  rather  than  to  be  smoth- 
ered like  rats  in  a  hole. 

"  Boys  !  "  exclaimed  Josh,  —  "  men  !  —  f er  nobody 
but  men  would  do  w'at  you  have  done,  —  the  day  has 
gone  'g'inst  us.  We  kin  see  ou'  finish;  but  fer  my 
part,  I  ain'  gwine  ter  leave  dis  worl'  widout  takin'  a 
w'ite  man  'long  wid  me,  an'  I  sees  my  man  right  out 
yonder  waitin',  —  I  be'n  waitin'  fer  him  twenty  years, 
but  he  won'  have  ter  wait  fer  me  mo'  'n  'bout  twenty 
seconds.  Eve'y  one  er  you  pick  yo'  man !  We  '11 
open  de  do',  an'  we  '11  give  some  w'ite  men  a  chance 
ter  be  sorry  dey  ever  started  dis  fuss !  " 

The  door  was  thrown  oj^en  suddenly,  and  through 
it  rushed  a  dozen  or  more  black  figures,  armed  with 
knives,  pistols,  or  clubbed  muskets.  Taken  by  sudden 
surprise,  the  white  people  stood  motionless  for  a  mo- 
ment, but  the  approaching  negroes  had  scarcely  cov- 
ered half  the  distance  to  which  the  heat  of  the  flames 
had  driven  back  the  mob,  before  they  were  greeted 
with  a  volley  that  laid  them  all  low  but  two.     One  of 


"MINE  ENEMY,  O  MINE  ENEMY!  309 


these,  dazed  by  the  fate  of  his  companions,  turned 
instinctively  to  flee,  but  had  scarcely  faced  around 
before  he  fell,  pierced  in  the  back  by  a  dozen  bul- 
lets. 

Josh  Green,  the  tallest  and  biggest  of  them  all, 
had  not  apparently  been  touched.  Some  of  the  crowd 
paused  in  involuntary  admiration  of  this  black  giant, 
famed  on  the  wharves  for  his  strength,  sweeping  down 
upon  them,  a  smile  upon  his  face,  his  eyes  lit  up  with 
a  rapt  expression  which  seemed  to  take  him  out  of 
mortal  ken.  This  impression  was  heightened  by  his 
apparent  immunity  from  the  shower  of  lead  which 
less  susceptible  persons  had  continued  to  pour  at 
him. 

Armed  with  a  huge  bowie-knife,  a  relic  of  the  civil 
war,  which  he  had  carried  on  his  person  for  many 
years  for  a  definite  purpose,  and  which  he  had  kept 
sharpened  to  a  razor  edge,  he  reached  the  line  of  the 
crowd.  All  but  the  bravest  shrank  back.  Like  a 
wedge  he  dashed  through  the  mob,  which  parted  in- 
stinctively before  him,  and  all  oblivious  of  the  rain  of 
lead  which  fell  around  him,  reached  the  point  where 
Captain  McBane,  the  bravest  man  in  the  party,  stood 
waiting  to  meet  him.  A  pistol-flame  flashed  in  his 
face,  but  he  went  on,  and  raising  his  powerful  right 
arm,  buried  his  knife  to  the  hilt  in  the  heart  of  his 
enemy.  When  the  crowd  dashed  forward  to  w^reak 
vengeance  on  his  dead  body,  they  found  him  with  a 
smile  still  upon  his  face. 

One  of  the  two  died  as  the  fool  dieth.  "Which  was 
it,  or  was  it  both  ?  "  Vengeance  is  mine,"  saith  the 
Lord,  and  it  had  not  been  left  to  Him.  But  they  that 
do  violence  must  expect  to  suffer  violence.  McBane's 
death  was   merciful,   compared   with    the    nameless 


310  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

horrors  he  had  heaped  upon  the  hundreds  of  helpless 
mortals  who  had  fallen  into  his  hands  during  his 
career  as  a  contractor  of  convict  labor. 

Sobered  by  this  culminating  tragedy,  the  mob 
shortly  afterwards  dispersed.  The  flames  soon  com- 
pleted their  work,  and  this  handsome  structure,  the 
fruit  of  old  Adam  Miller's  industry,  the  monument  of 
his  son's  philanthropy,  a  promise  of  good  things  for 
the  future  of  the  city,  lay  smouldering  in  ruins,  a 
melancholy  witness  to  the  fact  that  our  boasted  civili- 
zation is  but  a  thin  veneer,  which  cracks  and  scales  off 
at  the  first  impact  of  primal  passions. 


XXXVI 

FIAT   JUSTITIA 

By  tlie  light  o£  the  burning*  building,  which  illu- 
minated the  street  for  several  blocks,  Major  Carteret 
and  Ellis  made  their  way  rapidly  until  they  turned 
into  the  street  where  the  major  lived.  Reaching  the 
house,  Carteret  tried  the  door  and  found  it  locked.  A 
vigorous  ring  at  the  bell  brought  no  immediate  re- 
sponse. Carteret  had  begun  to  pound  impatiently  upon 
the  door,  when  it  was  cautiously  opened  by  Miss  Pem- 
berton,  who  was  pale,  and  trembled  with  excitement. 

"  Where  is  Olivia?  "  asked  the  major. 

"  She  is  upstairs,  with  Dodie  and  Mrs.  Albright's 
hospital  nurse.  Dodie  has  the  croup.  Virgie  ran 
away  after  the  riot  broke  out.  Sister  Olivia  had  sent 
for  Mammy  Jane,  but  she  did  not  come.  Mrs.  Al- 
bright let  her  white  nurse  come  over." 

"  I  '11  go  up  at  once,"  said  the  major  anxiously. 
"  Wait  for  me,  Ellis,  —  I  '11  be  down  in  a  few  minutes." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Ellis,"  exclaimed  Clara,  coming  toward 
him  with  both  hands  extended,  "  can  nothing  be  done 
to  stop  this  terrible  affair  ?  " 

"  I  wish  I  could  do  something,"  he  murmured  fer- 
vently, taking  both  her  trembling  hands  in  his  own 
broad  palms,  where  they  rested  with  a  surrendering 
trustfulness  which  he  has  never  since  had  occasion  to 
doubt.  "  It  has  gone  too  far,  already,  and  the  end, 
I  fear,  is  not  yet ;  but  it  cannot  grow  much  worse." 


312  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITIOaST 

The  editor  hurried  upstairs.  Mrs.  Carteret,  wear- 
ing a  worried  and  haggard  look,  met  him  at  the  thresh- 
old of  the  nursery. 

"  Dodie  is  ill,"  she  said.  "  At  three  o'clock,  when 
the  trouble  began,  I  was  over  at  Mrs.  Albright's,  —  I 
had  left  Yirgie  with  the  baby.  When  I  came  back, 
she  and  all  the  other  servants  had  gone.  They  had 
heard  that  the  white  people  were  going  to  kill  all  the 
negroes,  and  fled  to  seek  safety.  I  found  Dodie 
lying  in  a  draught,  before  an  open  window,  gasping 
for  breath.  I  ran  back  to  Mrs.  Albright's,  —  I  had 
found  her  much  better  to-day,  —  and  she  let  her  nurse 
come  over.  The  nurse  says  that  Dodie  is  threatened 
with  membranous  croup." 

"  Have  you  sent  for  Dr.  Price  ?  " 

"  There  was  no  one  to  send,  —  the  servants  were 
gone,  and  the  nurse  was  afraid  to  venture  out  into  the 
street.  I  telephoned  for  Dr.  Price,  and  found  that  he 
was  out  of  town  ;  that  he  had  gone  up  the  river  this 
morning  to  attend  a  patient,  and  would  not  be  back 
until  to-morrow.  Mrs.  Price  thought  that  he  had 
anticipated  some  kind  of  trouble  in  the  town  to-day, 
and  had  preferred  to  be  where  he  could  not  be  called 
upon  to  assume  any  responsibility." 

"  I  suppose  you  tried  Dr.  Ashe  ?  " 

"  I  could  not  get  him,  nor  any  one  else,  after  that 
first  call.  The  telephone  service  is  disorganized  on 
account  of  the  riot.  We  need  medicine  and  ice.  The 
drugstores  are  all  closed  on  account  of  the  riot,  and 
for  the  same  reason  we  could  n't  get  any  ice." 

Major  Carteret  stood  beside  the  brass  bedstead 
upon  which  his  child  was  lying,  —  his  only  child, 
around  whose  curly  head  clustered  all  his  hopes ; 
upon  whom  all  his  life  for  the  past  year  had  been  cen- 


FIAT  JUSTITIA  313 

tred.  He  stooped  over  tlie  bed,  beside  which  the  nurse 
had  stationed  herself.  She  was  wiping  the  child's  face, 
which  was  red  and  swollen  and  covered  with  moisture, 
the  nostrils  working  rapidly,  and  the  little  patient 
vainly  endeavoring  at  intervals  to  cough  up  the  ob- 
struction to  his  breathing. 

"  Is  it  serious  ?  "  he  inquired  anxiously.  He  had 
always  thought  of  the  croup  as  a  childish  ailment, 
that  yielded  readily  to  proper  treatment ;  but  the 
child's  evident  distress  impressed  him  with  sudden 
fear. 

"  Dangerous,"  replied  the  young  woman  laconically. 
"You  came  none  too  soon.  If  a  doctor  isn't  got  at 
once,  the  child  will  die,  —  and  it  must  be  a  good 
doctor." 

"  Whom  can  I  call?  "  he  asked.  "  You  know  them 
all,  I  suppose.  Dr.  Price,  our  family  physician,  is 
out  of  town." 

"  Dr.  Ashe  has  charge  of  his  cases  when  he  is  away," 
replied  the  nurse.  "  If  you  can't  find  him,  try  Dr. 
Hooper.  The  child  is  growing  worse  every  minute. 
On  your  way  back  you  'd  better  get  some  ice,  if  pos- 
sible." 

The  major  hastened  downstairs. 

"Don't  wait  for  me,  Ellis,"  he  said.  "I  shall  be 
needed  here  for  a  while.  I  '11  get  to  the  office  as  soon 
as  possible.  Make  up  the  paper,  and  leave  another 
stick  out  for  me  to  the  last  minute,  but  fill  it  up  in 
case  I  'm  not  on  hand  by  twelve.  We  must  get  the 
paper  out  early  in  the  morning." 

Nothing  but  a  matter  of  the  most  vital  importance 
would  have  kept  Major  Carteret  away  from  his  office 
this  night.  Upon  the  presentation  to  the  outer  world 
of  the  story  of  this  riot  would  depend  the  attitude  of 


314  THE   MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

the  great  civilized  public  toward  the  events  of  the  last 
ten  hours.  The  Chronicle  was  the  source  from  w^iich 
the  first  word  would  be  expected ;  it  would  give  the 
people  of  Wellington  their  cue  as  to  the  position  which 
they  must  take  in  regard  to  this  distressful  affair, 
which  had  so  far  transcended  in  ferocity  the  most  ex- 
treme measures  which  the  conspirators  had  anticipated. 
The  burden  of  his  own  responsibility  weighed  heavily 
upon  him,  and  could  not  be  shaken  off ;  but  he  must 
do  first  the  duty  nearest  to  him,  —  he  must  first  attend 
to  his  child. 

Carteret  hastened  from  the  house,  and  traversed 
rapidly  the  short  distance  to  Dr.  Ashe's  office.  Far 
down  the  street  he  could  see  the  glow  of  the  burning 
hospital,  and  he  had  scarcely  left  his  own  house  when 
the  fusillade  of  shots,  fired  when  the  colored  men 
emerged  from  the  burning  building,  was  audible. 
Carteret  would  have  hastened  back  to  the  scene  of 
the  riot,  to  see  what  w^as  now  going  on,  and  to  make 
another  effort  to  stem  the  tide  of  bloodshed ;  but 
before  the  dread  of  losing  his  child,  all  other  interests 
fell  into  the  background.  Not  all  the  negroes  in 
Wellington  could  weigh  in  the  balance  for  one  instant 
against  the  life  of  the  feeble  child  now  gasping  for 
breath  in  the  house  behind  him. 

Reaching  the  house,  a  vigorous  ring  brought  the 
doctor's  wife  to  the  door. 

"  Good  -  evening,  Mrs.  Ashe.  Is  the  doctor  at 
home?" 

"  No,  Major  Carteret.  He  was  called  to  attend  Mrs. 
Wells,  w^ho  was  taken  suddenly  ill,  as  a  result  of  the 
trouble  this  afternoon.  He  will  be  there  all  night,  no 
doubt." 

"  My  child  is  very  ill,  and  I  must  find  some  one." 


1 


FIAT  JUSTITIA  315 

"  Try  Dr.  Yates.  His  house  is  only  four  doors 
away." 

A  ring  at  Dr.  Yates's  door  brouglit  out  a  young 
man. 

"  Is  Dr.  Yates  in  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"Can  I  see  him?" 

"  You  might  see  him,  sir,  but  that  would  be  all. 
His  horse  was  frightened  by  the  shooting  on  the 
streets,  and  ran  away  and  threw  the  doctor,  and  broke 
his  right  arm.  I  have  just  set  it ;  he  will  not  be  able 
to  attend  any  patients  for  several  weeks.  He  is  old 
and  nervous,  and  the  shock  was  great." 

"  Are  you  not  a  physician  ?  "  asked  Carteret,  looking 
at  the  young  man  keenly.  He  was  a  serious,  gentle- 
manly looking  young  fellow,  whose  word  might  prob- 
ably be  trusted. 

"  Yes,  I  am  Dr.  Evans,  Dr.  Yates's  assistant.  I  'm 
really  little  more  than  a  student,  but  I  '11  do  what  I 
can." 

"  My  only  child  is  sick  with  the  croup,  and  requires 
immediate  attention." 

"  I  ought  to  be  able  to  handle  a  case  of  the  croup," 
answered  Dr.  Evans.  "  at  least  in  the  first  stashes.  I  '11 
go  with  you,  and  stay  by  the  child,  and  if  the  case  is 
beyond  me,  I  may  keep  it  in  check  until  another 
physician  comes." 

He  stepped  back  into  another  room,  and  returning 
immediately  with  his  hat,  accompanied  Carteret 
homeward.  The  riot  had  subsided  ;  even  the  glow 
from  the  smouldering  hospital  was  no  longer  visible. 
It  seemed  that  the  city,  appalled  at  the  tragedy,  had 
suddenly  awakened  to  a  sense  of  its  own  crime.  Here 
and  there  a  dark  face,  emerging  cautiously  from  some 


316  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

hiding-place,  peered  from  behind  fence  or  tree,  but 
shrank  hastily  away  at  the  sight  of  a  white  face.  The 
negroes  of  Wellington,  with  the  exception  of  Josh 
Green  and  his  party,  had  not  behaved  bravely  on 
this  critical  day  in  their  history ;  but  those  who  had 
fought  were  dead,  to  the  last  man ;  those  who  had 
sought  safety  in  flight  or  concealment  were  alive  to 
tell  the  tale. 

"  We  pass  right  by  Dr.  Thompson's,"  said  Dr. 
Evans.  "  If  you  have  n't  spoken  to  him,  it  might  be 
well  to  call  him  for  consultation,  in  case  the  child 
should  be  very  bad." 

"  Go  on  ahead,"  said  Carteret,  "  and  I  '11  get  him." 

Evans  hastened  on,  while  Carteret  sounded  the  old- 
fashioned  knocker  upon  the  doctor's  door.  A  gray- 
haired  negro  servant,  clad  in  a  dress  suit  and  wearing 
a  white  tie,  came  to  the  door. 

"  De  doctuh,  suh,"  he  replied  politely  to  Carteret's 
question,  "  has  gone  ter  ampitate  de  ahm  er  a  gent'e- 
man  who  got  one  er  his  bones  smashed  wid  a  pistol 
bullet  in  de  —  fightin'  dis  atternoon,  suh.  He's  jes' 
gone,  suh,  an'  lef  wo'd  dat  he  'd  be  gone  a'  hour  er 
mo',  suh." 

Carteret  hastened  homeward.  He  could  think  of 
no  other  available  physician.  Perhaps  no  other 
would  be  needed,  but  If  so,  he  could  find  out  from 
Evans  whom  it  was  best  to  call. 

When  he  reached  the  child's  room,  the  young 
doctor  was  bending  anxiously  over  the  little  frame. 
The  little  lips  had  become  livid,  the  little  nails,  lying 
against  the  white  sheet,  were  blue.  The  child's  ef- 
forts to  breathe  were  most  distressing,  and  each  gasp 
cut  the  father  like  a  knife.  Mrs.  Carteret  was  weep- 
ing hysterically. 


FIAT  JUSTITIA  317 

"  How  is  he,  doctor  ?  "  asked  the  major. 

"  He  is  very  low,"  replied  the  young  man.  "  No- 
thing short  of  tracheotomy — an  operation  to  open 
the  windpipe  —  will  relieve  him.  Without  it,  in  half 
or  three  quarters  of  an  hour  he  will  be  unable  to 
breathe.  It  is  a  delicate  operation,  a  mistake  in 
which  would  be  as  fatal  as  the  disease.  I  have  nei- 
ther the  knowledge  nor  the  experience  to  attempt  it, 
and  your  child's  life  is  too  valuable  for  a  student 
to  practice  upon.  Neither  have  I  the  instruments 
here." 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?  "  demanded  Carteret.  "  We 
have  called  all  the  best  doctors,  and  none  are  avail- 
able." 

The  young  doctor's  brow  was  wrinkled  with 
thought.  He  knew  a  doctor  who  could  perform  the 
operation.  He  had  heard,  also,  of  a  certain  event  at 
Carteret's  house  some  months  before,  when  an  un- 
welcome physician  had  been  excluded  from  a  consul- 
tation, —  but  it  was  the  last  chance. 

"  There  is  but  one  other  doctor  in  town  who  has 
performed  the  operation,  so  far  as  I  know,"  he  de- 
clared, "  and  that  is  Dr.  Miller.  If  you  can  get  him, 
he  can  save  your  child's  life." 

Carteret  hesitated  involuntarily.  All  the  inci- 
dents, all  the  arguments,  of  the  occasion  when  he  had 
refused  to  admit  the  colored  doctor  to  his  house, 
came  up  vividly  before  his  memory.  He  had  acted 
in  accordance  with  his  lifelong  beliefs,  and  had 
carried  his  point ;  but  the  present  situation  was  dif- 
ferent, —  this  was  a  case  of  imperative  necessity,  and 
every  other  interest  or  consideration  must  give  way 
before  the  imminence  of  his  child's  peril.  That  the 
doctor  would  refuse  the  call,  he  did  not  imagine :  it 


318  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

would  be  too  great  an  honor  for  a  negro  to  decline,  — 
unless  some  bitterness  might  have  grown  out  of  the 
proceedings  of  the  afternoon.  That  this  doctor  was 
a  man  of  some  education  he  knew  ;  and  he  had  been 
told  that  he  was  a  man  of  fine  feeling,  —  for  a  negro,  — 
and  might  easily  have  taken  to  heart  the  day's  events. 
Nevertheless,  he  could  hardly  refuse  a  professional  call, 
—  professional  ethics  would  require  him  to  respond. 
Carteret  had  no  reason  to  suppose  that  Miller  had 
ever  learned  of  what  had  occurred  at  the  house  during 
Dr.  Burns's  visit  to  Wellington.  The  major  himself 
had  never  mentioned  the  controversy,  and  no  doubt 
the  other  gentlemen  had  been  equally  silent. 

"  I  '11  go  for  him  myself,"  said  Dr.  Evans,  noting 
Carteret's  hesitation  and  suspecting  its  cause.  "  I 
can  do  nothing  here  alone,  for  a  little  while,  and  I 
may  be  able  to  bring  the  doctor  back  with  me.  He 
likes  a  difficult  operation." 

It  seemed  an  age  ere  the  young  doctor  returned, 
though  it  was  really  only  a  few  minutes.  The  nurse 
did  what  she  could  to  relieve  the  child's  sufferings, 
which  grew  visibly  more  and  more  acute.  The 
mother,  upon  the  other  side  of  the  bed,  held  one  of 
the  baby's  hands  in  her  own,  and  controlled  her 
feelings  as  best  she  might.  Carteret  paced  the  floor 
anxiously,  going  every  few  seconds  to  the  head  of  the 
stairs  to  listen  for  Evans's  footsteps  on  the  piazza 
without.  At  last  the  welcome  sound  was  audible,  and 
a  few  strides  took  him  to  the  door. 

"  Dr.  Miller  is  at  home,  sir,"  reported  Evans,  as  he 
came  in.  "  He  says  that  he  was  called  to  your  house 
once  before,  by  a  third  person  who  claimed  authority 
to  act,  and  that  he  was  refused  admittance.     He  de- 


FIAT  JUSTITIA  319 

clares  that  he  will  not  consider  such  a  call  unless  it 
come  from  you  personally." 

"  That  is  true,  quite  true,"  replied  Carteret.  "  His 
position  is  a  just  one.  I  will  go  at  once.  Will  — 
will  —  my  child  live  until  I  can  get  Miller  here  ?  " 

"  He  can  live  for  half  an  hour  without  an  opera- 
tion.    Beyond  that  I  could  give  you  little  hope." 

Seizing  his  hat,  Carteret  dashed  out  of  the  yard 
and  ran  rapidly  to  Miller's  house  ;  ordinarily  a  walk 
of  six  or  seven  minutes,  Carteret  covered  it  in  three, 
and  was  almost  out  of  breath  when  he  rang  the  bell 
of  Miller's  front  door. 

The  ring  was  answered  by  the  doctor  in  person. 

"  Dr.  Miller,  I  believe  ?  "  asked  Carteret. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  I  am  Major  Carteret.  My  child  is  seriously  ill, 
and  you  are  the  only  available  doctor  who  can  perform 
the  necessary  operation." 

"  Ah  !  You  have  tried  all  the  others,  —  and  then 
you  come  to  me !  " 

"  Yes,  I  do  not  deny  it,"  admitted  the  major,  biting 
his  lip.  He  had  not  counted  on  professional  jealousy 
as  an  obstacle  to  be  met.  "  But  I  have  come  to  you, 
as  a  physician,  to  engage  your  professional  services 
for  my  child,  —  my  only  child.  I  have  confidence  in 
your  skill,  or  I  should  not  have  come  to  you.  I  re- 
quest —  nay,  I  implore  you  to  lose  no  more  time,  but 
come  with  me  at  once  !  My  child's  life  is  hanging  by 
a  thread,  and  you  can  save  it !  " 

"  Ah ! "  replied  the  other,  *'  as  a  father  whose 
only  child's  life  is  in  danger,  you  implore  me,  of  all 
men  in  the  world,  to  come  and  save  it !  " 

There  was  a  strained  intensity  in  the  doctor's  low 
voice  that  struck  Carteret,  in  spite  of  his  own  pre- 


320  THE  MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

occupation.  He  thought  he  heard,  too,  from  the  ad- 
joining room,  the  sound  of  some  one  sobbing  softly. 
There  was  some  mystery  here  which  he  could  not 
fathom  unaided. 

Miller  turned  to  the  door  behind  him  and  threw 
it  open.  On  the  white  cover  of  a  low  cot  lay  a  childish 
form  in  the  rigidity  of  death,  and  by  it  knelt,  with 
her  back  to  the  door,  a  woman  whose  shoulders  were 
shaken  by  the  violence  of  her  sobs.  Absorbed  in  her 
grief,  she  did  not  turn,  or  give  any  sign  that  she  had 
recognized  the  intrusion. 

"  There,  Major  Carteret !  "  exclaimed  Miller,  with 
the  tragic  eloquence  of  despair,  "  there  lies  a  speci- 
men of  your  handiwork  !  There  lies  my  only  child, 
laid  low  by  a  stray  bullet  in  this  riot  which  you  and 
your  paper  have  fomented ;  struck  down  as  much 
by  your  hand  as  though  you  had  held  the  weapon 
with  which  his  life  was  taken !  " 

"  My  God  !  "  exclaimed  Carteret,  struck  with  hor- 
ror.    "  Is  the  child  dead  ?  " 

"  There  he  lies,"  continued  the  other,  "  an  innocent 
child,  —  there  he  lies  dead,  his  little  life  snuffed  out 
like  a  candle,  because  you  and  a  handful  of  your 
friends  thought  you  must  override  the  laws  and  run 
this  town  at  any  cost !  —  and  there  kneels  his  mother, 
overcome  by  grief.  We  are  alone  in  the  house.  It 
is  not  safe  to  leave  her  unattended.  My  duty  calls 
me  here,  by  the  side  of  my  dead  child  and  my  suffer- 
ing wife !  I  cannot  go  with  you.  There  is  a  just 
God  in  heaven !  —  as  you  have  sown,  so  may  you 
reap !  " 

Carteret  possessed  a  narrow,  but  a  logical  mind, 
and  except  when  confused  or  blinded  by  his  preju- 
dices, had  always  tried  to  be  a  just  man.    In  the  agony 


FIAT  JUSTITIA  321 

o£  his  own  predicament,  —  in  the  horror  of  the  situa- 
tion at  Miller's  house,  —  for  a  moment  the  veil  of 
race  prejudice  was  rent  in  twain,  and  he  saw  things 
as  they  were,  in  their  correct  proportions  and  rela- 
tions, —  saw  clearly  and  convincingly  that  he  had  no 
standing  here,  in  the  presence  of  death,  in  the  home 
of  this  stricken  family.  Miller's  refusal  to  go  with 
him  was  pure,  elemental  justice ;  he  could  not  blame 
the  doctor  for  his  stand.  He  was  indeed  conscious  of 
a  certain  involuntary  admiration  for  a  man  who  held 
in  his  hands  the  power  of  life  and  death,  and  could 
use  it,  with  strict  justice,  to  avenge  his  own  wrongs. 
In  Dr.  Miller's  place  he  would  have  done  the  same 
thing.  Miller  had  spoken  the  truth,  ■-—  as  he  had 
sown,  so  must  he  reap !  He  could  not  expect,  could 
not  ask,  this  father  to  leave  his  own  household  at  such 
a  moment. 

Pressing  his  lips  together  with  grim  courage,  and 
bowing  mechanically,  as  though  to  Fate  rather  than 
the  physician,  Carteret  turned  and  left  the  house.  At 
a  rapid  pace  he  soon  reached  home.  There  was  yet  a 
chance  for  his  child :  perhaps  some  one  of  the  other 
doctors  had  come ;  perhaps,  after  all,  the  disease  had 
taken  a  favorable  turn,  —  Evans  was  but  a  young 
doctor,  and  might  have  been  mistaken.  Surely,  with 
doctors  all  around  him,  his  child  would  not  be  per- 
mitted to  die  for  lack  of  medical  attention  !  He  found 
the  mother,  the  doctor,  and  the  nurse  still  grouped, 
as  he  had  left  them,  around  the  suffering  child. 

"  How  is  he  now  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  voice  that  sounded 
like  a  groan. 

"  No  better,"  replied  the  doctor ;  "  steadily  grow- 
ing worse.  He  can  go  on  probably  for  twenty  minutes 
longer  without  an  operation." 


322  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

"  Where  is  the  doctor  ?  "  demanded  Mrs.  Carteret, 
looking  eagerly  toward  the  door.  "  You  should  have 
brought  him  right  upstairs.  There  's  not  a  minute  to 
spare  !     Phil,  Phil,  our  child  will  die !  " 

Carteret's  heart  swelled  almost  to  bursting  with  an 
intense  pity.  Even  his  own  great  sorrow  became  of 
secondary  importance  beside  the  grief  which  his  wife 
must  soon  feel  at  the  inevitable  loss  of  her  only  child. 
And  it  was  his  fault !  Would  that  he  could  risk  his 
own  life  to  spare  her  and  to  save  the  child ! 

Briefly,  and  as  gently  as  might  be,  he  stated  the 
result  of  his  errand.  The  doctor  had  refused  to  come, 
for  a  good  reason.     He  could  not  ask  him  again. 

Young  Evans  felt  the  logic  of  the  situation,  which 
Carteret  had  explained  sufficiently.  To  the  nurse  it 
was  even  clearer.  If  she  or  any  other  woman  had 
been  in  the  doctor's  place,  she  would  have  given  the 
same  answer. 

Mrs.  Carteret  did  not  stop  to  reason.  In  such  a 
crisis  a  mother's  heart  usurps  the  place  of  intellect. 
For  her,  at  that  moment,  there  were  but  two  facts 
in  all  the  world.  Her  child  lay  dying.  There  was 
within  the  town,  and  within  reach,  a  man  who  could 
save  him.  With  an  agonized  cry  she  rushed  wildly 
from  the  room. 

Carteret  sought  to  follow  her,  but  she  flew  down 
the  long  stairs  like  a  wild  thing.  The  least  misstep 
might  have  precipitated  her  to  the  bottom ;  but  ere 
Carteret,  with  a  remonstrance  on  his  lips,  had  scarcely 
reached  the  uppermost  step,  she  had  thrown  open  the 
front  door  and  fled  precipitately  out  into  the  night. 


XXXVII 

THE   SISTERS 

Miller's  doorbell  rang  loudly,  insistently,  as  thougli 
demanding  a  response.  Absorbed  in  his  own  grief, 
into  which  he  had  relapsed  upon  Carteret's  departure, 
the  sound  was  an  unwelcome  intrusion.  Surely  the 
man  could  not  be  coming  back !  If  it  were  some  one 
else  —  What  else  might  happen  to  the  doomed  town 
concerned  him  not.  His  child  was  dead,  —  his  dis- 
tracted wife  could  not  be  left  alone. 

The  doorbell  rang  —  clamorously  —  appealingly. 
Through  the  long  hall  and  the  closed  door  of  the 
room  where  he  sat,  he  could  hear  some  one  knocking, 
and  a  faint  voice  calling. 

"  Open,  for  God's  sake,  open  !  " 

It  was  a  woman's  voice,  —  the  voice  of  a  woman  in 
distress.  Slowly  Miller  rose  and  went  to  the  door, 
which  he  opened  mechanically. 

A  lady  stood  there,  so  near  the  image  of  his  own 
wife,  whom  he  had  just  left,  that  for  a  moment  he  was 
well-nigh  startled.  A  little  older,  perhaps,  a  little 
fairer  of  complexion,  but  with  the  same  form,  the 
same  features,  marked  by  the  same  wild  grief.  She 
wore  a  loose  wrapper,  which  clothed  her  like  the  drap- 
ery of  a  statue.  Her  long  dark  hair,  the  counterpart  of 
his  wife's,  had  fallen  down,  and  hung  disheveled  about 
her  shoulders.  There  was  blood  upon  her  knuckles, 
where  she  had  beaten  with  them  upon  the  door. 


324  THE  MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

"  Dr.  Miller,"  she  panted,  breathless  from  her  flight 
and  laying  her  hand  upon  his  arm  appealingly,  —  when 
he  shrank  from  the  contact  she  still  held  it  there,  — 
'*  Dr.  Miller,  you  will  come  and  save  my  child  ?  You 
know  what  it  is  to  lose  a  child  !  I  am  so  sorry  about 
your  little  boy  !     You  will  come  to  mine  !  " 

"  Your  sorrow  comes  too  late,  madam,"  he  said 
harshly.  "  My  child  is  dead.  I  charged  your  husband 
with  his  murder,  and  he  could  not  deny  it.  Why 
should  I  save  your  husband's  child  ?  " 

"  Ah,  Dr.  Miller !  "  she  cried,  with  his  wife's  voice, 
—  she  never  knew  how  much,  in  that  dark  hour,  she 
owed  to  that  resemblance  —  "  it  is  my  child,  and  I 
have  never  injured  you.  It  is  my  child,  Dr.  Miller, 
my  only  child.  I  brought  it  into  the  world  at  the 
risk  of  my  own  life  !  I  have  nursed  it,  I  have  watched 
over  it,  I  have  prayed  for  it,  —  and  it  now  lies  dying  ! 
Oh,  Dr.  Miller,  dear  Dr.  Miller,  if  you  have  a  heart, 
come  and  save  my  child !  " 

"Madam,"  he  answered  more  gently,  moved  in 
spite  of  himself,  "  my  heart  is  broken.  My  people 
lie  dead  upon  the  streets,  at  the  hands  of  yours.  The 
work  of  my  life  is  in  ashes,  —  and,  yonder,  stretched 
out  in  death,  lies  my  own  child  !  God  !  woman,  you 
ask  too  much  of  human  nature  !  Love,  duty,  sorrow, 
jxi8tice^  call  me  here.     I  cannot  go  !  " 

She  rose  to  her  full  height.  "  Then  you  are  a 
murderer,"  she  cried  wildly.  "  His  blood  be  on  your 
head,  and  a  mother's  curse  beside  !  " 

The  next  moment,  with  a  sudden  revulsion  of  feel- 
ing, she  had  thrown  herself  at  his  feet,  —  at  the  feet 
of  a  negro,  this  proud  white  woman,  —  and  was  clasp- 
ing his  knees  wildly. 

"  O  God ! "  she  prayed,  in  tones  which  quivered 


THE  SISTERS  325 

with  anguish,  "  pardon  my  husband's  sins,  and  my 
own,  and  move  this  man's  hard  heart,  by  the  blood  of 
thy  Son,  who  died  to  save  us  all ! " 

It  was  the  last  appeal  of  poor  humanity.  ^Vhen 
the  pride  of  intellect  and  caste  is  broken  ;  when  we 
grovel  in  the  dust  of  humiliation ;  when  sickness 
and  sorrow  come,  and  the  shadow  of  death  falls  upon 
us,  and  there  is  no  hope  elsewhere,  —  we  turn  to  God, 
who  sometimes  swallows  the  insult,  and  answers  the 
appeal. 

Miller  raised  the  lady  to  her  feet.  He  had  been 
deeply  moved,  —  but  he  had  been  more  deeply  injured. 
This  was  his  wife's  sister,  —  ah,  yes  !  but  a  sister  who 
had  scorned  and  slio^hted  and  io;nored  the  existence  of 
his  wife  for  all  her  life.  Only  Miller,  of  all  the  world, 
could  have  guessed  what  this  had  meant  to  Janet, 
and  he  had  merely  divined  it  through  the  clairvoyant 
sympathy  of  love.  This  woman  could  have  no  claim 
upon  him  because  of  this  unacknowledged  relation- 
ship. Yet,  after  all,  she  was  his  wife's  sister,  his 
child's  kinswoman.  She  was  a  fellow  creature,  too, 
and  in  distress. 

"  Rise,  madam,"  he  said,  with  a  sudden  inspiration, 
lifting  her  gently.  "  I  will  listen  to  you  on  one  con- 
dition. My  child  lies  dead  in  the  adjoining  room,  his 
mother  by  his  side.  Go  in  there,  and  make  your 
request  of  her.     I  will  abide  by  her  decision." 

The  two  women  stood  confronting  each  other  across 
the  body  of  the  dead  child,  mute  witness  of  this  first 
meeting  between  two  children  of  the  same  father. 
Standing  thus  face  to  face,  each  under  the  stress  of 
the  deepest  emotions,  the  resemblance  between  them 
was  even  more  striking;  than  it  had  seemed  to  Miller 


326  THE  MARROW  OF  TRADITION 

wlien  he  had  admitted  Mrs.  Carteret  to  the  house. 
But  Death,  the  great  leveler,  striking  upon  the  one 
hand  and  threatening  upon  the  other,  had  wrought  a 
marvelous  transformation  in  the  bearing  of  the  two 
women.  The  sad-eyed  Janet  towered  erect,  with 
menacing  aspect,  like  an  avenging  goddess.  The 
other,  whose  pride  had  been  her  life,  stood  in  the 
attitude  of  a  trembling  suppliant. 

'*  You  have  come  here,"  cried  Janet,  pointing  with 
a  tragic  gesture  to  the  dead  child,  —  "  you,  to  gloat  over 
your  husband's  work.  All  my  life  you  have  hated 
and  scorned  and  despised  me.  Your  presence  here  in- 
sults me  and  my  dead.     What  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Miller,"  returned  Mrs.  Carteret  tremulously, 
dazed  for  a  moment  by  this  outburst,  and  clasping  her 
hands  with  an  imploring  gesture,  "  my  child,  my  only 
child,  is  dying,  and  your  husband  alone  can  save  his 
life.  Ah,  let  me  have  my  child,"  she  moaned,  heart- 
rendingly.  "  It  is  my  only  one  —  my  sweet  child  — 
my  ewe  lamb  !  " 

"  This  was  my  only  child  !  "  replied  the  other 
mother  ;  "  and  yours  is  no  better  to  die  than  mine !  " 

"  You  are  young,"  said  Mrs.  Carteret,  "  and  may 
yet  have  many  children,  —  this  is  my  only  hope !  If 
you  have  a  human  heart,  tell  your  husband  to  come 
with  me.  He  leaves  it  to  you ;  he  will  do  as  you 
command." 

"  Ah,"  cried  Janet,  "  I  have  a  human  heart,  and 
therefore  I  will  not  let  him  go.  My  child  is  dead  — 
O  God,  my  child,  my  child  !  " 

She  threw  herself  down  by  the  bedside,  sobbing 
hysterically.  The  other  woman  knelt  beside  her,  and 
put  her  arm  about  her  neck.  For  a  moment  Janet, 
absorbed  in  her  grief,  did  not  repulse  her. 


THE   SISTERS  327 

"Listen,"  pleaded  Mrs.  Carteret.  "You  will  not 
let  my  baby  die  ?  You  are  my  sister ;  —  the  child  is 
your  own  near  kin !  " 

"  My  child  was  nearer,"  returned  Janet,  rising 
aofain  to  her  feet  and  shakino;  off  the  other  woman's 
arm.  "  He  was  my  son,  and  I  have  seen  him  die.  I 
have  been  your  sister  for  twenty-five  years,  and  you 
have  only  now,  for  the  first  time,  called  me  so  !  " 

"  Listen  —  sister,"  returned  Mrs.  Carteret.  Was 
there  no  way  to  move  this  woman  ?  Her  child  lay 
dying,  if  he  were  not  dead  already.  She  would  tell 
everything,  and  leave  the  rest  to  God.  If  it  would 
save  her  child,  she  would  shrink  at  no  sacrifice. 
Whether  the  truth  would  still  further  incense  Janet, 
or  move  her  to  mercy,  she  could  not  tell ;  she  would 
leave  the  issue  to  God. 

"  Listen,  sister !  "  she  said.  "  I  have  a  confession 
to  make.  You  are  my  lawful  sister.  jNIy  father  was 
married  to  your  mother.  You  are  entitled  to  his 
name,  and  to  half  his  estate." 

Janet's  eyes  flashed  with  bitter  scorn. 

"  And  you  have  robbed  me  all  these  years,  and  now 
tell  me  that  as  a  reason  why  I  should  forgive  the 
murder  of  my  child?  " 

"  No,  no ! "  cried  the  other  wildly,  fearing  the 
worst.  "  I  have  known  of  it  only  a  few  weeks,  — 
since  my  Aunt  Polly's  death.  I  had  not  meant  to  rob 
you,  —  I  had  meant  to  make  restitution.  Sister  I  for 
our  father's  sake,  who  did  you  no  wrong,  give  me 
my  child's  life !  " 

Janet's  eyes  slowly  filled  with  tears  —  bitter  tears  — 
burning  tears.  For  a  moment  even  her  grief  at  her 
child's  loss  dropped  to  second  place  in  her  thoughts. 
This,  then,  was  the  recognition  for  which,  all  her  life. 


328  THE  MARROW   OF  TRADITION 

she  had  longed  in  secret.  It  had  come,  after  many- 
days,  and  in  larger  measure  than  she  had  dreamed  ; 
but  it  had  come,  not  with  frank  kindliness  and  sisterly 
love,  but  in  a  storm  of  blood  and  tears ;  not  freely 
given,  from  an  open  heart,  but  extorted  from  a  reluc- 
tant conscience  by  the  agony  of  a  mother's  fears.  Janet 
had  obtained  her  heart's  desire,  and  now  that  it  was 
at  her  lips,  found  it  but  apples  of  Sodom,  filled  with 
dust  and  ashes ! 

"  Listen  !  "  she  cried,  dashing  her  tears  aside.  "  I 
have  but  one  word  for  you,  —  one  last  word,  —  and  then 
I  hope  never  to  see  your  face  again  !  My  mother  died 
of  want,  and  I  was  brought  up  by  the  hand  of  charity. 
Now,  when  I  have  married  a  man  who  can  supply  my 
needs,  you  offer  me  back  the  money  which  you  and 
your  friends  have  robbed  me  of  !  You  imagined  that 
the  shame  of  being  a  negro  swallowed  up  every  other 
ignominy,  —  and  in  your  eyes  I  am  a  negro,  though  I 
am  your  sister,  and  you  are  white,  and  people  have 
taken  me  for  you  on  the  streets,  —  and  you,  therefore, 
left  me  nameless  all  my  life  !  Now,  when  an  honest 
man  has  given  me  a  name  of  which  I  can  be  proud, 
you  offer  me  the  one  of  which  you  robbed  me,  and  of 
which  I  can  make  no  use.  For  twenty-five  years  I, 
poor,  despicable  fool,  would  have  kissed  your  feet  for 
a  word,  a  nod,  a  smile.  Now,  when  this  tardy  recog- 
nition comes,  for  which  I  have  waited  so  long,  it  is 
tainted  with  fraud  and  crime  and  blood,  and  I  must 
pay  for  it  with  my  child's  life  !  " 

"  And  I  must  forfeit  that  of  mine,  it  seems,  for  with- 
holding it  so  long,"  sobbed  the  other,  as,  tottering,  she 
turned  to  go.     "  It  is  but  just." 

"Stay  —  do  not  go  yet!"  commanded  Janet  im- 
periously, her  pride  still  keeping  back  her  tears.     "  I 


THE  SISTERS  329 

have  not  done.  I  throw  you  back  your  father's  name, 
your  father's  wealth,  your  sisterly  recognition.  I 
want  none  of  them,  —  they  are  bought  too  dear  !  ah, 
God,  they  are  bought  too  dear  !  But  that  you  may 
know  that  a  woman  may  be  foully  wronged,  and  yet 
may  have  a  heart  to  feel,  even  for  one  who  has  injured 
her,  you  may  have  your  child's  life,  if  my  husband 
can  save  it !  Will,"  she  said,  throwing  open  the  door 
into  the  next  room,  "  go  with  her  !  " 

"  God  will  bless  you  for  a  noble  woman  !  "  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Carteret.  "  You  do  not  mean  all  the  cruel  things 
you  have  said,  —  ah,  no  !  I  will  see  you  again,  and 
make  you  take  them  back ;  I  cannot  thank  you  now  ! 
Oh,  doctor,  let  us  go  !  I  pray  God  we  may  not  be  too 
late ! " 

Together  they  went  out  into  the  night.  Mrs.  Car- 
teret tottered  under  the  stress  of  her  emotions,  and 
would  have  fallen,  had  not  Miller  caught  and  sus- 
tained her  with  his  arm  until  they  reached  the  house, 
where  he  turned  over  her  fainting  form  to  Carteret 
at  the  door. 

"  Is  the  child  stiU  alive  ?  "  asked  MiUer. 

"  Yes,  thank  God,"  answered  the  father,  "  but 
nearly  gone." 

"  Come  on  up.  Dr.  Miller,"  called  Evans  from  the 
head  of  the  stairs.  "  There  's  time  enough,  but  none 
to  spare." 


Electrotyped  and  printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &'  Co. 
Catnbridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 


i 


(?/ 


